Icarus & I
by blubick
Summary: "You. Me. Mikasa. Diary. Roadtrip." After a serious, irrational breakdown at his own graduation party, Armin has decided to avoid rehab and go on a road trip, by Eren's suggestion, to get to the roots of the question that ruined him.
1. The Beginning of Everything

**Modern AU. There will be ships involved, though I'm not quite sure which ones. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Icarus &amp; I<strong>

**Chapter 1**

**The Beginning of Everything**

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><p><strong>The breakdown came out of nowhere.<strong>

It happened at my graduation party, after I'd unwrapped all of my gifts and said hello to everyone personally. I was just thanking everyone for their support and trying hard not to blush when a thought occurred in the back of my mind. It was a whisper, one of those intrusive thoughts you get at any given moment in time.

But it erupted through my head, blazing through my skull, and I was screaming and crying, and I felt Eren's steady hands on my shoulders, and the next thing I know I'm in the air and then on the bed and the sirens are wailing, wailing, but they're faint underneath my own wails. I know I'm thrashing, and a tiny part of me tells me that I'm scaring them, I'm ruining everything, but it's lost beneath that single intrusive thought that's shattering me, destroying me, tearing down in seconds what I've built up over years:

_What's the point?_

That's it. Three little words, and suddenly I'm bawling because I have no answer, no quip for that little voice. Suddenly, the world is pointless and love is pointless and laughter is pointless and I am pointless and time is nonexistent and it doesn't matter whether I'll ever know what creatures live in the Marianas Trench because there is no meaning and life. is. a. moot. point.

They told me to calm down.

They asked my full name and I stopped screaming and said Armin Tyler Arlert because that was something I knew.

They asked my age and my breathing slowed and I said I was seventeen because that was something I knew.

I knew that I went to Maria High and that I'd gotten a full scholarship from my choice college, Sina University, and that in my bedroom, half of my bags were packed.

I knew that my best friends were Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman and that they loved me and that they were worried.

I also knew that none of that mattered, and that we were born to die, and that the fact that I knew things felt important when it really wasn't.

They told me to calm down, but I don't think I ever did.

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><p>My parents are very reasonable people, and that's something I'm grateful for. Dad studied psychology, and in his exact words, what I'd had was called a "crippling moment of absolute anxiety and existential crisis and maybe some depression tossed in there for fun". Mom, who studied non-human organisms (namely, plants) simply called it "freaking out".<p>

After a few days of rest, apologies to guests, and "Sorry, kids, Armin's not ready for company", we sat in the dining room and looked one another in the eyes, and Mom had an entire notebook page filled with things that most likely had to do with our conversation. Knowing her, she would probably skip over most things, but that fact didn't do much to help suppress my nerves. It was time for a Long Talk in the Arlert household. Those hardly ended well.

"Armin, sweetheart," began Mom. "We're sorry we didn't see this coming. We really should have. But you always seemed so cheerful and eager, we just...we just didn't pay enough attention to you."

She paused and glanced at my father, who would usually add some kind of related analysis on me and my mental health at this point. But he shook his head, his expression soft, his listening eyes on. I guess he trusted Mom with this one.

Mom looked at me, her eyes asking for feedback. She couldn't work without it, no matter how many plans she made and charts she stared at.

"It's not your fault at all," I reassured her. "Neither of you are to blame. I honestly _was _just fine. I just..."- best not to tell them everything- "...panicked."

"Panicked?" Dad repeated, sincerely confused. But he didn't say any more. Maybe it was a new method he was trying out or something.

"Was it the crowd?" Mom asked. "The thought of leaving home for so long? Or maybe it was the idea of keeping the scholarship that set you off?"

"No," I said. "I just...I just had that random second of anxiety, imagining my general future and how uncertain it is. I just freaked out. I'm sorry, guys."

"Oh no," Dad said, urgently reaching across the table to place his hand on mine. "Son, this is all perfectly natural, and none of it is your fault at all. You've always been scared of failure, and when the stakes rise, you falter. College is the ultimate set-up for failure, Armin. At least to you. An anxiety attack is not only understandable, but a little healthy, too."

If he'd had a method, it had just flown behind his head and out the closed window.

"Anyway," Mom said pointedly (she'd probably been enjoying the organization of the conversation), "you have two options. The first is that your father and I send you to a rehabilitation center to try and get this weed of negativity out by its roots."

"What's the second?" I asked.

"You choose your own method of relief," Dad answered for Mom.

"If you can't choose by this Thursday, you're going to rehab," Mom continued, trying to act unfazed by him and mostly failing. Chuckling, Dad kissed her on the cheek as an apology. She stroked the back of his neck in forgiveness, and in the moment I had to think, I thought.

I had two options.

I could go to rehab.

Or I could come up with some other way of escape. And I was pretty sure I could think of something by Thursday, an entire five days away.

When Mom's dark eyes and Dad's blue ones finally focused on me, I had come up with my answer, word-for-word and with substantial back-up material.

"I'll come up with my own method," I promised, and Dad smiled.

"Great choice, Double-A," he said, using my old nickname. "Can't wait to hear about your next genius plan."

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><p>"So they left it up to you?" Eren was shooting little foam basketballs into the plastic hoop mounted on his closet door. He was good; if not for his getting kicked off the team, he might have gotten a scholarship.<p>

"Yeah," I said. "Now I just have to think of something that'll actually work. I know myself, but it's hard to try and think about this objectively."

"Not following."

I sighed. Eren hardly ever followed. "A good emotional treatment would require input from both a personal analysis and an objective one. I know myself, but I don't know myself objectively, as a stranger or a friend or family member. Some people can think of themselves in that way, but it's rare when I can."

Eren was silent, probably trying to cut through words he deemed unnecessary to get to the core of my meaning. It had always been this way: Eren paraphrased, and I elaborated. He was smart and cut to the chase; I was intelligent, and I carefully searched for anything else that needed to be known. We made a great team, he and I, though our ties to one another were much more than mere cooperation.

"So..." he began, his brow furrowed, "you're saying that you need someone else's opinion because you aren't someone else?"

"More or less," I said.

"Oh." He snorted loudly and humorously, though I couldn't see what was so funny. "Dude," he laughed, "literally _everyone_ _else_ is everyone else."

Now it was my turn to say "oh" and laugh. "I guess you're right."

"So you want my opinion?"

"Of course."

He stopped shooting and finally looked at me. His eyes had always been interesting to me, a blue-green that wasn't the ocean or a clover but its own color entirely, simply Eren. I used to be jealous of them, and in contrast, Eren couldn't have cared less if his eyes glowed in the dark. He casually rolled and narrowed them, and it was almost funny how such a delicate and glorious color could be paired up with such dark and rough features and expressions. Now they focused on me, on my skinny frame and my short ponytail, and in any other situation I might have been self-conscious, but I wasn't because my best friend was much too fascinating for any of my focus to ponder over how I looked to him.

"Well," he said, snapping me out of my thoughts, "I guess I can say that you've always been a little anxious, and sometimes out of nowhere you can get kind of unstable, but mostly you just look...happy. Interested. Somewhere between those two."

_Happy and interested, _I thought to myself. I guess that's how I _felt_ most of the time. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," said Eren. "Two things, actually."

"Oh, yeah?"

He hummed a _yes _and turned back to his little game, gathering the balls from his floor to shoot them again. "First item: I think I know what you should do."

"You do?" Eren wasn't usually the guy with the ideas. And when he did have ideas, they were usually terrible ones. Yet something told me I'd like what he had to say.

"Uh-huh," he answered, making yet another ball into the hoop. "You know that piece of junk van my dad has in the garage that he hasn't touched since the nineties?"

"Yes?"

"You. Me. Mikasa. Diary. Roadtrip."

"Diary?"

"Psychological healing is no walk in the park, my friend. If you actually want this to work, you need more than some scratchy blankets and a portable DVD player."

I rolled my eyes. "Since when are you an expert in psychology, Eren?"

He gave a short laugh. "Since I was little and my dad would punish me by making me read his college textbooks, Armin. I learned those books cover to cover. Now I finally have a chance to put all of this useless knowledge to use. Don't ruin it for me.

"Anyway, so yeah. Diaries are very good for you, and they can help you discover yourself and all of that. That's what you plan to do, right?"

He had a point. "Yes, it is."

"So you see my argument."

"Yes."

"And you agree with me?"

"Eren, I will only not agree with your when you're being stupid. Right now, you're about as far from stupid as I've seen you."

"So I'm, like, average."

We laughed, and then we started talking again, this time about the trip and the plans. When I had to go, I stopped before leaving and asked, "What was the second thing?"

Eren had moved on from basketballs. He was playing video games now, focused on his TV. Yet he found a way to look at me again and grin.

"Don't stare at me like you did earlier," he said."It creeps me out."

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><p>Dr. Jaeger was just fine with our using his van and paying for the road trip, so long as it really was a method of helping me out and not another one of Eren's poorly planned scams against him. We assured him it was, and he trusts me more than Eren, so he didn't even bother calling my parents for their permission.<p>

When Mikasa was finally able to come over, she had her arms loaded with a care basket. Her father must have thought of it, but even through her (arguably) blank expression I could see that she was ready to claim the idea as her own.

"Armin," she said, hurriedly coming through my door without knocking. Before I knew it, the basket was on the floor and her arms were around me.

"Hey, Mikasa."

"You're okay?"

"Sort of."

She pulled back, searching my face for what was wrong before I could even tell her. She was a beautiful girl, irrefutably so. Her hair was shoulder-length and completely black, and her eyes were gunmetal blue and stormy. She constantly wore her hair in her face, obstructing her lovely features, and, like Eren, you could see she didn't think much of them. A lot of guys had crushed on her the year before. Some had even thought we were dating, but the truth is that she treats both Eren _and_ me this way. The only difference is that Eren is stubborn and hates it when she coddles him. I accept it, partly for her sake and partly because I know I probably need it. I was lucky to have her always fussing over me, and I won't deny that I take pride in her beauty, the way you take pride in your mother's looks. She was, in many ways, like an older sister to me, or a second mom.

She continued to brush my bangs away from my forehead, searching there for some clues. When she found nothing, she finally gave up.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Two things," I said. "The first thing is that at any given moment, I'll probably freak out again. The second is that Eren's taking us on a road trip so I don't have to go to rehab."

"Road trip?" she repeated, ignoring the first thing. "Where are we going?"

"Don't know, don't care," I answered, glad she was ignoring it and wondering why I'd said anything in the first place.

She considered this. "Which car?"

"Dr. Jaeger's old van."

"Who's paying?"

"Both his parents and mine agreed to split the pay."

"When?"

"Probably this upcoming Saturday."

"How does he think this will help?"

I reached over to my desk and showed her my composition book.

"I have a diary."

She looked away, thinking again.

"I can go," she finally said after a few minutes. She looked up at me, her eyes always direct and full of purpose. "As long as it's to help you."

That last part was a little unsettling. I wanted Mikasa to do it because it sounded fun, or because she needed a change of scenery. Not for me. But I knew if I brought this up, she'd only be confused and annoyed with the thought.

"Thanks," I said. She nodded to say I was welcome, and we then proceeded to discuss other things, the whole time a tiny voice in the back of my mind repeating that there was no reason for this, for any of it. Like anyone else would, I ignored it.

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><p><strong>Day 0<strong>

_Hi. I'm Armin, and five days ago I broke down crying because I made a very important realization: nothing matters._

_Now I feel okay, but I know it's going to come again. Fear doesn't just appear once. It follows you and waits for its moment, when you're alone and quiet, when your thoughts are all that's real. _

_Mikasa, Eren, and I are going somewhere in Dr. Jaeger's old van. We don't know where, but we're going. _

_I can't wait until I'm scared again. Pointlessness is terrifying, but I'd rather be scared and aware than happy and ignorant. I also hate this waiting. It's like the fear of fear itself._

_I guess I don't feel so okay, after all._

_More later._

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><p>It was dark when we left, and cold for a summer morning. It smelled like the ocean outside, and my hair was frizzing up. It felt like a huge storm was coming along, and I liked that feeling.<p>

Eren had dressed in his usual clothes: old jeans just a little too big for him and a T-shirt with some band on it. Mikasa wasn't much different, clad in the comfortable hoodie and sweatpants she liked to study in.

I'd dressed a little more casually than usual, and I was probably the most packed. A nervous sort of energy buzzed inside of me, even though it was just a road trip. My parents had taken me many places as a kid- Europe, Africa, Australia, etc. I shouldn't have been as excited as I was.

Then again, they'd only ever taken me across the country once, for some conference or whatever with their study buddies. They found the US unremarkable, even if it was home. I, on the other hand, had made a list of things I wanted to see and do, all of them so close but so far from home. I admittedly hadn't thought much of recovery, if only because I feared another breakdown. Hopefully, neither Eren nor Mikasa would pester me about it.

I'd said good-bye to my mother, who always woke early, that morning. Dr. Jaeger was there to see us off, as Eren's mom was working early at the hospital. He was paying special attention to me, much to Eren's embarrassment, giving me tips on meditation and journal-keeping. Most of all, he said, he wanted me to treat this like a vacation. Eren finally shooed him away, and we all hopped in. Eren was driving first, much to our terror, but it _was _his family van, so we figured he had a right to the wheel.

"First stop?" Mikasa asked, looking at me. I took out my notebook, grinning widely. I didn't even know where to start.

"McDonald's," Eren answered for me. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm freaking starving."

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of getting breakfast there- though their coffee wasn't bad- but said nothing in protest. Mikasa simply rolled her eyes and asked Eren to drive by the nearest convenience store on the way.

As we rolled down the road, the Jaegers' house became smaller and smaller. Finally, we turned a corner, and there was nothing left of home to see.

Eren shoved in a CD, and one of his alternative-ish bands came on. While he and Mikasa bickered in the front, I stared out at the gray sky, silently enjoying the music with that same thrill stretching from my chest to my face and down into my fingertips.

I knew I should have been worrying, thinking about my mental state, but something told me that that wasn't what I was here for.

Something told me that this was going to be the journey of my life.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I should come up with chapter 2 soon. Please review.**


	2. Introducing Armin (Whoever That Is)

**Icarus & I**

**Chapter 2**

**Introducing Armin (Whoever That Is)**

**By the end of our second day, the novelty of the trip had worn off.**

The van was littered with chip bags and empty water bottles, and Eren seemed to become worse and worse at driving as the time passed. I couldn't count how many times I'd gripped my seatbelt and yelped, or how many times he'd flipped the finger at the "jerks" that had apparently done him some injustice. It had gotten to the point where, whenever Eren spat out an obscenity or lifted that one particular finger, Mikasa would grab his ear and yank him towards her as punishment. Unfortunately, all this did was make us swerve. I was beginning to wonder if this road trip was honestly going to help my anxiety, or whether it would just make it worse (if Eren didn't swerve us into an accident and kill us first).

To make things worse, we'd unanimously decided to sleep in the van the night before, and we all _stank. _Or, in Eren's words,

"This car smells like sex, and it's driving me nuts. Is there a place we can shower?"

"How do you know what sex smells like?" I asked dryly.

He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I don't. But I'd imagine it smells like this."

"Like what?" Mikasa challenged, the smallest of smirks resting on her lips.

Eren sniffed, and his face wrinkled in disgust. "Old fish and puberty. And maybe my parents' room sometimes."

Mikasa and I gave expressions of revulsion, silently asking if that last sentence was truly necessary. Eren ignored us, half-grinning at his accidental revenge.

"Anyway, back to the subject. Who's up for our first hotel?"

Deciding to furthermore ignore the cause of our grief, we both gave a fervent "me" in reply. It was only five o' clock, but then again, it wasn't like we had somewhere specific to be at a certain time. And besides that, we needed some real food. We'd grabbed so much fast food that I felt like I was going to throw up, and all it would have taken was the sight of another greasy french fry. Eren had no problem with our diet so far, but that was because Eren could eat silverware if he wanted to and not have a problem with it. And all Mikasa requested was that we stop at convenience stores so she could buy protein bars and shakes. Either way, I was looking forward to the hotel's food.

We were already out of Colorado and going into Arizona, where we'd find the Grand Canyon and other tourist attractions. Eren had cheerfully agreed to our first destination, probably because he really wanted to see an actual, potentially dangerous thing.

I'd been snapping photos of the scenery and writing things in my journal, but the things that I wrote were mostly things I already knew.

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><p><em>Day 1<em>

_I feel just fine. Mentally, at least. Physically, I'm not doing so well. Eren has a couple of bad habits on the road that I've never had to experience long-term, and Mikasa's mood is generally getting worse as the minutes pass. Fast food is hell. Also, I don't think I've heard the F-word as many times in a day as I have today._

_We're sleeping in the van tonight, pulled over in the middle of nowhere. Eren says that if a cop asks what we're doing, our excuse will be that we were all too tired to drive, and I have to give him my most pathetic face from the back seat. Out here, though, I don't think anyone's going to come around._

_So I guess I'm supposed to talk about my issues?_

_I really do feel okay most of the time. I don't know if my breakdown was, for lack of a better word, a fluke, or if I have some pent-up energy behind false happiness. I asked Eren for his opinion two days ago, and he noted that I've always been a little anxious about a lot of things. However, he also said that I seem fine most of the time, too._

_I asked Mikasa today for her opinion. All she said was that she was glad I was finally doing something about my mental state. I guess she thinks I'm unstable._

_Personally, I feel like it's possible that the breakdown wasn't really a fluke. Sure, that one thought was the trigger, but how much anxiety must I have had inside of me for something as ignorable and (really) childish as a long-debated question that even twelve-year-olds ask themselves to tear me down?_

_As an added point, Eren's right about me being anxious all the time. It's never been this serious, but I can recall several occasions where I've admittedly overreacted to a minor fault in a project or assignment. I'm no perfectionist, but- if this makes sense- sometimes I feel like all mistakes I make are a result of exactly how inadequate I am. It's an irrational concept, and usually, I'm able to look back and wonder how I ever believed it. But sometimes, I just stare at my failures, big and small, and I forget that being human means making mistakes. I pin everything down on myself personally, as if the fault is in my own personality and soul and not my innate nature, and it crushes me for a second._

_For example._

_In middle school, I had to make a model volcano. The project was so cliché, I couldn't even believe it was real. My teacher had a vast love for all clichés (and their debatable irony), however, so it wasn't _that _incredible, after all._

_Anyway, so I almost paired up with Eren, but then I didn't because he's a sort of pyromaniac when he gets the chance to be. I recall that in my sophomore year, I forgot this fact and innocently teamed up with him for our chemistry lab, which involved many flammable/explosive substances. It was terrifying to watch him pour everything in together like he did, grinning with all his might. When the fire alarm went off, I hadn't obeyed any procedures, running for my life and taking my bag with me__**. **__Eren was laughing and whooping, and I'm pretty certain part of my hair had been on fire before the water began to spray._

_Surprisingly enough, that incident wasn't what got him kicked off of the basketball team._

_Okay, sorry. I went off on a tangent. Actually, scratch that. I'm beating around the bush._

_So._

_I didn't pair up with Eren, for reasons elaborately explained above. I was with a classmate named Thomas. We agreed that I would do the planning for the volcano, and he would put the plan into action._

_But when all was said and done, it didn't work out. When the teacher asked us to make the volcano erupt, Thomas pressed the button, and everything just kind of blew up. The tomato sauce we'd used as lava was suddenly all over everyone's face and hair, and broken chunks of the actual volcano had been blown across the room._

_The mistake here, I found, was not in Thomas's building, but my planning. I'd been studying some advanced chemistry at that point, and as I looked back at my simple blueprints, I realized that I'd mixed up a simple "make the sauce packets explode __**inside **__the volcano and overflow out" instruction to what was pretty much a "make the everything explode" one._

_Even without a look at my plans, I knew the incident had been my fault. Embarrassingly enough, I started crying and wheezing, to the point where they thought it necessary to escort me to the nurse._

_I had made a mistake, a considerably disastrous one. It wasn't something I could handle, so I broke down._

_There are various memories I have that are similar, and that fact leads me to believe that Eren was right, and that the breakdown was not a "fluke"._

_Well, that's all the personal adventuring I'm willing to do right now._

_More later._

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><p>Eren was disappointed to find that we weren't headed straight to the Grand Canyon, complaining that it was way too early to settle in a hotel room yet (though he'd suggested it in the first place). Mikasa and I weren't having it.<p>

"I'm putting you under my armpit if you don't make the turn now," Mikasa threatened, dead serious and unashamed.

Eren's face twisted in disgust. "Ugh. Fine, whatever. But I call first shower."

"Hey, ladies first," I said on Mikasa's behalf.

I saw his eyes roll in the rear-view mirror, but he said nothing in argument. Mikasa nodded in thanks.

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><p>As it turned out, <em>hotel<em> was a generous word for where we were staying. Not only was it a _motel, _but it was old-looking, old-smelling, and generally a faintly unpleasant place to be. On the bright side of that, it was very close to the Grand Canyon, and our room was given at a very generous price, even for a place like itself.

I did most of the talking when it came down to it, asking for our room and when dinner was and all of that. Mikasa just kind of blankly took in our surroundings, and Eren was warily watching any stranger that looked at him.

When we got to our room, as Mikasa rushed to get into the shower and Eren flipped on the TV (though I warned him that all hotel TV is weird), I tried to come up with a situation in which we were all comfortable sleeping. There was a normal bed, and then a couch that pulled out into an uncomfortable bed. I didn't want to have to make anyone sleep on the floor (who knew what crawled around at night), but the only alternative was for someone to share the bigger bed.

Once Mikasa came out, as Eren was running into the bathroom, already removing his shirt, I asked, "Who wants to sleep where?"

They both looked at the situation, glanced at one another, and answered simultaneously, "We'll share the bed."

"Wait- what?"

Eren hopped into the shower, leaving Mikasa to answer me.

"Long story short, we're comfortable with it," Mikasa said.

"But...why? How?"

Her expression flattened. "For reasons," she said, and I decided that maybe answers were overrated.

"Okay," I said dismissively, proceeding to tie my hair up and remove my sweatshirt. Now that our most immediate problem had been solved, I realized that it was so hot that I was in danger of a stroke. Even Mikasa was just wearing some basketball shorts and a tank top.

Disappointingly enough, the cool, humid weather that had manifested as we'd left failed to follow us down the road. Summer had always been my least favorite season; I was more of a spring and autumn person. Heat is just unbearable to me, especially since I usually have to wear less than usual to keep myself at a healthy temperature, therefore letting my self-consciousness distract me from pretty much anything important.

After a while of reading on the couch in my sticky shirt, Mikasa yelled at Eren to get out of the shower. He yelled something back, but neither of us understood him. Nevertheless, he was promptly out of the bathroom less than a minute later, in nothing but his cargo shorts, unintentionally lowering my self-esteem with his well-muscled body.

"Your turn, Ar," he said, glancing at me.

"Right," I replied, gathering my clothes.

The bathroom was surprisingly nice, at least in comparison to the rest of our room. The shower was roomy and clean, the towels were fluffy and white, and there were absolutely no cracks in the walls or on the floor, assuring me that no cockroaches would creep up on my back while I was bathing (unfortunately, I do know the feeling).

I undressed and untied my hair, which was stuck to the nape of my neck. I turned the shower on cold, shivering at first, but soon welcoming the shocking sensation.

I'd gone last on purpose; I liked to take my time in the shower, since it was essentially my thinking space. After reaching to adjust the head, I curled up in the tub and closed my eyes.

In my journal, I'd established that my breakdown wasn't a random event. The question now was whether I'd gotten upset because of my little thought, or if it was a sort of "last straw" situation.

_Psychological healing is no walk in the park, _Eren had said.

I got the frustrating feeling that that statement couldn't have been more true.

* * *

><p>The Grand Canyon wasn't nearly as grand as people made it out to be.<p>

Part of my disappointment was born of poor presentation on the attraction's side, and part of it was born of the high expectations that many artistic photographs had stuck into my head. In the end, it was just a canyon. A big, red canyon.

Mikasa and Eren liked it, though. Eren flipped through his pamphlet furiously, looking for answers he couldn't get from me. He was completely fascinated and intrigued by it, wondering how deep it was and why the rock was red and what world records were associated by it.

Mikasa simply sat and took in the scenery, almost unmoving. She'd always generally enjoyed nature; I was sure that she liked the canyon almost as much as Eren did.

After fifteen minutes or so, I decided I'd seen enough. Eren and Mikasa weren't done yet, so I said I'd wait for them by our van. Eren made a crack about me getting mugged, and Mikasa quickly told him to shut up, shooting a semi-worried glance over her shoulder at me. I waved and headed back. She turned around.

Curiously enough, I found I had company in the parking lot. And I'm not simply implying that other people were around (because why would I even bother to imply that?). No, I mean that a complete and total stranger was sprawled on the hood of our big, rusty van, staring at the sky.

He was tall but stocky, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans rolled up to his calves. He could've been my age, and judging by the expensive-looking camera he cradled on his stomach (and despite his taste in resting places), I doubted he was homeless or anything of the like.

"Excuse me," I called, a little alarmed. The stranger sat up, almost dropping his camera.

"Oh, uh- is this your car? I'm _so _sorry, man, lemme get off right now, I just-"

"No, it's okay. Did you need something?"

He paused, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Actually, I kinda do. If you don't mind helping me out, that is."

I moved closer. A complete stranger was taking my originally empty offer for help. This was interesting.

"What's wrong?"

He lifted his sunglasses and squinted at me through the sun's fading glare, revealing round, friendly eyes. A nervous chuckle found its way out of him as he mulled over his request.

"Two things," he said finally. "Maybe more. First of all, I kind of lost my friend."

I stifled a laugh. "Um. Lost how?"

"Well, I kind of left him a couple of hours ago, and he hasn't caught up with me yet, and he won't answer his phone, and he's a bit of a troublemaker, so I'm worried. I know a complete stranger may not be much help, but I'd feel better if I had someone by my side, y'know? I mean, it sounds stupid, yeah, and I'm sure you've got your own things to do-"

"Actually, I don't. I'd be glad to help you out, mister..."

The guy held out his hand, covered in freckles like the rest of him. "Marco Bodt. Thank you so much." He grinned with gratitude and warmth, as though I were already a good friend of his.

"Armin," I returned, smiling back. "What was the second thing?"

"Oh." His smile dropped for a second. "This sounds ridiculous, but we need a ride to Texas. Are you just wandering, or do you have somewhere to be? Because we can just get a cab, but I can pay you and my friend has a fear of cabs, so-"

"That's just fine with me," I interrupted. It was reassuring to find that I wasn't the only guy in the universe that rambled on when I felt stupid.

"Oh, really? Well, thank you so much," he said again breathlessly.

"It's nothing," I said. "Let me just ask my friends if they're okay with it." I could only see Mikasa being upset, but I figured that she'd have no legitimate reason to be. The van may have been old, but it could seat at least six people comfortably, even with luggage and carry-on items. And besides that, even with my list of sights to see, we had no destination and no real deadline to get back home.

After explaining to my sincerely confused friends why we had to get going right then and there, I introduced Marco to them. Both Eren and Mikasa seemed to like him, which was unsurprising, but pleasant nonetheless. We loaded into the van, Mikasa the driver this time.

"So where did you last see your friend?" I asked Marco.

"Um, I think I left him at that one diner not too far from here..."

"Chester's?" Eren guessed.

"Yeah, that's it," Marco agreed. Mikasa began to drive. "He went to the bathroom, and he was taking a really long time, right? So I told him I was going to go ahead, and he was like, 'okay, I'll catch up with you', and I left without worrying because he usually does catch up with me. But I haven't seen him yet, and it's been a few hours. I think his phone's dead. I'm worried he might have gotten hurt, but knowing him, he probably just got lost."

I nodded in sympathy, glancing at Eren. I'd never _lost _him, exactly, but there had been several occasions on which he hadn't showed up where he's supposed to (and Mikasa and I have had to rescue him before his parents found out). The situation was ridiculous, at best, and terrifying at worst. I got the sense that Marco's problem felt like a strange mix between the two.

"We'll probably find him," Eren said in an attempt at being reassuring. "He's probably still back at the diner. He'd have to be a real moron to leave, and even dumber to go very far."

"Crap," Marco muttered sincerely. I stifled my snort, instead having my own try at being comforting.

"So what's with your camera?" I asked, pointing to the one he was clutching like a stuffed animal. "Are you sightseeing?"

Marco's entire face lit up. "Oh, I'm actually an amateur photographer! I'm trying to build my portfolio right now, and I just thought of all the beautiful things here in Arizona, like the Petrified Forest and the Grand Canyon. I think this entire state has turned out to be gorgeous, though. Mom'll be proud of me once I get back."

"And where did you say you were from?" Eren asked.

"Texas," Marco answered. "I live near Austin, just a little north of it."

"But you don't have an accent," Eren noted with confusion.

Marco shrugged. "Where I'm from, not a lot of people do. I don't know about the rest of the state, though."

"Huh," I said, racking my mind for more distracting questions. "So you plan to be a photographer? What kind?"

Marco shrugged again. "Any kind, really, though I'd prefer a job where I get to deal with scenery or travel. My mom always wanted that kind of a job, too. She ended up teaching elementary school, though. I just hope I don't end up the same way."

"I guess we all feel that way, huh?" I mused, more to myself than anyone else. "We've all got this one dream that's just out of reach. It's so close, but so far. At least, I know that's how it is for me."

Marco gave me a rather startled look. It was the look most people gave me when I thought aloud. I was about to apologize when Mikasa asked, "Is that him?"

We all snapped to attention. We had slowed down near a guy around Marco's height, sunglasses glinting at us from where he was.

Marco jumped up and grinned with relief. "Yeah," he said, "that's Jean."

* * *

><p>Jean had unquestioningly hopped into the car once he saw Marco, chattering on to him about where he'd been and how his phone had died like we weren't even there. He did this for a good ten minutes before he finally stopped and looked around.<p>

"Wait- where are we?"

"My dad's piece-of-poop van," Eren answered. "Welcome."

"I was asking him," Jean said irritably, jerking a thumb at Marco. "So where are we?"

"His dad's piece-of-poop van," Marco repeated. Jean rolled his eyes, but Marco continued before he could come up with a reply. "These guys agreed to help me find you. On top of that, they said they'll take us home. Be grateful."

"Whatever," Jean muttered. Eren started to say something, but Mikasa elbowed him before he got a word out.

"Hey," I said, offering a hand in greeting. "I'm Armin. That's Eren and Mikasa. Glad to meet you."

"Ditto," he said, shaking my hand. "How much are we paying you to take us?"

I shrugged. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

"How's 600 sound? Would that cover anything?" Marco looked almost guilty at the small cost. I didn't fault him; I got the feeling that if he really had the money to, he would pay a lot more. And besides that, the only things they were costing us were gas and time; even 600 felt generous to me.

"Sure," I said. "Thanks."

After a few minutes, Jean asked, "Where are we going now?"

"Back to our motel," Mikasa answered. Jean straightened up at the sound of her voice. It seemed to finally hit him that a girl was in his presence (though I'm not sure how he missed that fact when I gave him her name).

"Is there any room there?" Marco asked, already doing the calculations.

"Yeah, and it's real cheap. Like, 20 a night," said Eren.

"Great!" Marco said sincerely. "At this rate, we may be able to make our budget."

"Nice," agreed Jean. "My folks'll kill me if we don't."

"Yeah, no kidding. I'm sure they'll come after me once they successfully hide your body."

"Where would they hide it, though?"

"I know, right? I bet that even in death, you'd fart loud enough for the neighbors to hear."

Jean shoved Marco and laughed. "That was one time!"

"But it still happened!"

"Oh yeah? Well how about the time when you pissed your pants during the school play?"

Marco's face flushed as he realized we were all listening. "Whatever, man," he chuckled despite his embarrassment. Jean smirked, but said nothing more.

With new company, we watched the sun begin to set. My stomach began to growl.

* * *

><p>The motel food cost us extra, but it was worth a real meal. I dug heartily into it while Marco attempted to get to know us better.<p>

"Favorite...song?"

"Really?"

"Okay. Favorite color?"

"Ugh."

"Favorite movie."

At this, Eren nodded in approval. "Good one. Don't kill me, but Pacific Rim."

Marco made a visible effort not to groan. Jean didn't try as hard.

"Hear me out," Eren pleaded. "It wasn't anything incredible, but it was a good movie, and I liked the idea of it. I mean, can you imagine? Fighting giant monsters for a living. And aliens coming from the ocean. That was a cool idea, too."

"He just likes the fact that the robots had the same name as him," said Mikasa.

"That too," Eren admitted. "To be honest, I hadn't known what my last name meant until I saw that movie. Pretty cool to find out."

"Wait, your last name's Jaeger?"

"Yup."  
>"That's a pretty neat name."<p>

Jean cracked a smile. "Coming from a guy named Butt, that doesn't mean much."

Marco shoved his elbow into Jean's arm, but otherwise ignored him. "Anyway, Eren, I can see where you're coming from, I guess. I really not a big action fan, so I guess I wouldn't know what's good and what isn't."

"You kidding me?" Jean interrupted again. "Pacific Rim was way overhyped. If you ask me-"

"-Like anyone was-"

"Shut up, Butt. If you ask me, Oblivion was where it was at."

"I thought Star Wars was your all-time favorite."

"Star Wars is everyone's all-time favorite. Oblivion, however, was a masterpiece all its own. Sure, Pacific Rim had the cool repetitive theme music and the nice worldbuilding and such, but it didn't have Morgan Freeman, did it?"

Eren's brow furrowed. "Is that your deciding factor of whether a movie is good or not? Whether Morgan Freeman is in it?"

Marco nodded in agreement. "Seriously, dude. Look at Dolphin Tale."

"Hey, Dolphin Tale was alright."

"Look at Evan Almighty," Mikasa offered.

"That movie was at least a little funny," Jean defended. "And besides, I never said Morgan Freeman was my deciding factor. I just believe that he's a convincing one. Look at the Dark Knight."

"Lego Movie," I added, receiving a couple of surprised glances. My face flushed as silence ensued.

Jean chuckled first. Then Eren. Marco caught on, and then I was laughing, too. I caught the faintest of grins from Mikasa as we made the ruckus.

I wasn't sure if we were laughing at the random silence, memories of the movie, the mere mention of the movie, or all three. All I could think as I slapped my hand down on the table was that about a week or two ago, I was screaming because everything was pointless.

Because, I suppose, everything is pointless.

That fact, however, didn't keep me from laughing so hard my head ached. Neither did it hinder the staff from pointedly clearing our unfinished plates.

* * *

><p>After saying our good-nights and setting up waking times and plans, we went our separate ways for the night. Jean and Marco were staying up on the third floor; Mikasa, Eren, and I had gotten a room on the second floor.<p>

We all changed at the same time: Mikasa in the bathroom, me and Eren in the bedroom. I freed my hair from its ponytail once the room was cold enough, proceeding to brush my teeth.

I had a bad habit of watching myself. It had always bothered me that we could see anyone but ourselves, especially since we're supposed to know ourselves better than anyone else. I was always curious- what did I look like in this light? Was I really as pale as I thought I was? Do I really tense my eyebrows as much as everyone says I do? What about that scar from two months ago? Was that still there?

Most of all, I think I was constantly trying to connect the Armin I knew with the one I saw.

Mature, Eren had once called me. I could see it.

Creepy, I'd once heard a kid say. I could see that, too.

There were a couple more I saw. Intensity colored my lowered brow. Carefulness was in my light touch, even as I brushed my teeth. Judgementality was the most obvious, written all over my body and branded into my eyes.

But the one I heard the most? I couldn't find it.

Brilliant.

Not in my skinny limbs.

Not in my concerningly pale pallor.

Not in my frowning, foaming mouth- actually, nowhere in my feminine features.

And- even though I searched and searched until my gums began to bleed from too much brushing-

The dull, focused, sensitive eyes colored my least favorite shade of blue?

There was no brilliance in there, either.

As a matter of fact, all I could see was loss.

_What was I?_

"Ar?"

I jumped as Eren appeared at my side.

"Uh, yes?" I asked, my mouth still a foamy mix of white and red.

He leaned on the counter to get a better look at my face. "What's up?"

"Nothing- nothing's up. Just….thinking."

His eyes narrowed, scanning me like Mikasa had earlier. I was never sure if, when he did this, he found the truth and covered it up, or if I was a better liar than I gave myself credit for. I knew for a fact that most of the time, Mikasa could read me like a book. She told me so.

Eren was another story.

I didn't want him to know. I didn't want anyone to know. I was lost, so confused by myself and who I was. I had always been that way. It was so easy to ignore when I was everyone else's Armin.

You know. Brilliant.

But once I took a real look at myself, I got scared. I didn't know this Armin. I didn't want to.

I think that, despite whether he knew the full truth or not, Eren at least saw the fear. It wasn't his Armin's usual fear. Whether he ran away from it or simply respected my wishes to leave it alone, I don't know, but he left it all the same. I was grateful.

"Don't think too much," was all he said. He tousled my hair before heading back to the bed, flipping on the weird hotel TV again.

Mikasa came out and, after brushing and flossing and doing everything she needed to do, she insisted on brushing my hair. It was something we'd always done as little kids, a couple of minutes taken during a sleepover to talk and joke.

"You doing okay?" she asked softly, starting at my ends.

"I'm better," I dodged. With most people, how are you was an easy question. They were just being polite. You were supposed to answer fine. With my friends, unfortunately, this wasn't the case. I'd gotten good at keeping them away from my inner issues, always dodging their questions with indirect answers.

Mikasa took my substitute. "Good," she said.

After a pause, I asked, "What do you think of them? Marco and Jean, I mean."

"I like Marco so far. Jean creeps me out."

I laughed. "Sounds about right."

"How about you?"

I thought before answering. "I feel as though Marco's a genuinely great guy. I like him. I like Jean, too, even if he's a bit…..gruff, if that's the word I'm looking for. He reminds me of a certain other scowling, tempestuous stubborn mule."

We both glanced at Eren, who was already showing signs of sleepiness.

"They don't seem to get along very well," Mikasa noted.

"They're just too alike," I said. "Excepting that Jean tends to stick his nose in the air, from what I've seen."

She finished. I stood up and unpacked my blankets, unfolding the couch. Mikasa moved to the bed and crawled inside…...facing Eren?

This was new.

I acted as though I hadn't seen anything. When Mikasa turned out her lamp, however, I watched, curious.

Eren reached a sleepy hand over and combed Mikasa's hair behind her ear. She held his hand there. She said something, but I couldn't hear it over the AC. He said something back. I turned my head back to the wall.

Mikasa and Eren. Eren and Mikasa. How could I have missed that one?

What did this mean for the three of us? Would it break us up, as everyone said things like this did?

No. I knew my friends. They wouldn't abandon me for anything.

But what if it didn't work out? What if taking this step forward was a mistake, and once it was over, everything between them- a relationship they'd built up over the entirety of their lives- was soiled?

Before I could go on, I stopped myself.

Maybe there was a reason they were waiting to tell me. What if they'd known I would freak out like this? I was almost like an overly attached parent, obsessing over so many what ifs. I just wanted to protect them, sure, but they could also protect themselves just fine. I'd seen it in action.

If my grandfather were here, he'd laugh at me.

Oh, Armin, he'd say, the world is doomed to be thrown out of balance someday. But you know something? Today is not that day.

As I calmed, something else came over me. I hadn't thought of the future since we'd left, but a vision popped into my head, a ridiculous and romantic idea. I wasn't one to jump the gun on these sorts of things, but new what ifs surfaced in my mind.

What if it worked out? What if it worked out really, really well, and they ended up as partners for life? What if, right now, my two favorite people in the world were discovering a happiness that most took years to find?

Warmth spread through me at the thought. I smiled as sleep overtook me.

Mikasa and Eren. Eren and Mikasa.

How had I missed it?

* * *

><p><em>Day 2<em>

_I'm doing fine. Now that I've gotten some real food in my stomach, that is._

_So, a few things._

_Firstly, we have company. Marco and Jean are their names. Marco's the kind of guy everyone wants to be, that one likeable all-around kid everyone respects. Jean is a lot like Eren, but with a little more sense and a much bigger ego. We're taking them home to Texas for 600 dollars._

_Secondly, just to get this out of my head, Mikasa and Eren are apparently an item. At first, I was scared, but the more I think about it, the more I like it. The funny thing is that they've hardly done much out of the ordinary thus far. I wonder if it's just because they're hiding it from me, or if one of them is shy about PDA. I'd place my money on Mikasa._

_Thirdly, some development in my "journey of psychological healing", as Eren likes to call it. I don't know if this improves things or worsens them, but it's been discovered that I have no idea who I am._

_Doesn't that sound so cliche? I used to be so confused by what the phrase meant, but now it applies to me._

_There are so many different versions of me. Eren's Armin is someone to be protected, but he's also the one who knows what to do when things get rough. Mikasa's Armin is precious and trustworthy. My parents' Armin is a great kid. He's a little fragile, but he's so selfless and smart._

_Then there's my Armin. Or, rather, the Armin I want to be._

_He's strong-willed. He's selfless. He needs no protection- as a matter of fact, he's the protector. He's wise and funny. Most of all, he's brilliant. Not just intellectually, but in his mannerisms, he's bright as the sun. Everyone likes this Armin. I like this Armin._

_Finally, there's me. I suppose this is the "real" Armin._

_I feel as though Armin isn't even my name. Its root name, Arminius, basically means "whole"._

_I am not whole._

_I'm not brilliant, either._

_I'm just me. Weak, calculating, unstable and nerdy in the worst way._

_Everyone has to worry over me. What have I ever done for anyone else? What trait could possibly be redeeming enough to justify my existence? I think and think, because that's all I'm good at, but even thinking can't save me. I'm worthless._

_My Armin is deserving of his name, my grandfather's name. He is whole._

_I am not_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay! Chapter 2 is finally here, and I still can't write. Sorry.**

**I was planning to maybe spend a little more time on the development of Eren and Mikasa before I introduced Jean and Marco, but I decided to save that for later. Or stretch it out. Somewhere between those two.**

**Evidently, Eren and Mikasa are a ship. Not sure where I'll go with it, but it's always been an obvious one to me. They just kind of naturally fell together. Really, I just threw it in as a plot device/ something to further Armin's character. Sometimes, you learn more about yourself through helping others. I intend for that idea to be the core of this story, really.**

**Also, sorry if the jokes and flow are dumb. I'm terrible at writing fun, "oh look friends" scenes. I'm definitely a conflict and reflection kind of author. Hopefully, it wasn't too cliche? Please critique me. I need help in that area.**

**As for Armin's thought process, that comes from personal experience. I've never been lost- I am me, but I'm also everyone else's idea of me, and I can accept that- but I can see how it would be confusing, especially when people hold you up to such a word as "brilliant". Still, that's the word I'd use to describe Armin.**

**That Grand Canyon thing was NOT a reference to the PSAT, btw. I actually wrote that BEFORE the PSATs came around. But feel free to laugh, I thought it was funny. Armin may never truly experience the value of P.**

**Hope you enjoyed pyromaniacal Eren. Chapter 3, here we come. Review.**

_**I do not own Attack on Titan or any other referenced works mentioned in this story. All rights go to their respectful owners.**_


	3. Bickering

**Icarus & I**

**Chapter 3**

**Bickering**

* * *

><p><strong>I enjoyed waking early.<strong>

Since I was a little kid, I'd loved rising before everyone else. I felt as though I saw things no one else did, like I was saving time somehow. Sleep was nice, but it was less important than spare time. Or, I suppose, the sunrise.

It seemed that Marco felt the same way. I met him at the motel's measly little outdoor pool before the sky turned light. He found me dipping my legs in the water, swishing them back and forth, half-afraid someone would try to mug me (it's happened before).

"So you're an early bird too," he said. I started at his voice. He smiled and rolled up his pant legs to join me. "I would've guessed as much."

A smile found its way to me, too. "Early birds do get the worm," I said. "Wouldn't want to miss it."

"So what's your worm?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What's your worm?" he repeated. "Your drive? Why are you an early bird?"

"Oh." I shrugged. "I guess I just like the time I save. What's yours?"

"Memories," he answered without hesitation. "when my dad was around, he liked to wake me up early for these dumb little adventures. It was fun, yeah, but I mostly loved it because he'd chosen me. I have two siblings. But he only ever took me with him. I felt...special."

"What did you guys do?"

His smile grew wider. "Dumb things, like I said. Errands. he'd grab some coffee, hot chocolate or milk for me, and we'd set off. Somehow, he made even something as dull as picking up dry-cleaning an adventure. He'd call it our 'mission', like we were secret agents or something."

I could see it. Little, chubby, freckled Marco hopping into the front seat of his dad's car, the excitement in his face brighter than the absent sun. His father's urgent, breathless and melodramatic voice laying out their directives for the morning. It was something I would wake early for, too, even after it stopped happening.

"He liked telling me stories," Marco continued, completely lost in the memories. "I learned a lot about when he was a kid and teenager. He liked to exaggerate. I loved to listen. He called me his little man. Again, out of all of us- Marie, Mason, and Marco- my dad chose me. Being the middle child in my family, I usually got the short end of the stick. I loved my dad for picking me. He made me feel like an individual. Noticed."

Though I felt like I might have been prying, I asked, "What happened to him?"

Marco's smile disappeared. I immediately wished I hadn't said anything.

The air was cool and just a little humid. The sky was dark, almost dangerously so. I noticed that both of us had stopped swishing our legs.

"Remember how I said he liked to exaggerate?"

I glanced at him. His eyes were closed. He was still.

"Yeah," I said. "I remember."

"You know how close exaggerations are to lies?"

"Yeah." _Oh._

Marco sighed. It was a long, drawn out sound. His nose whistled a little as the air went in. I couldn't tell whether he was holding something back or keeping something out. Maybe both.

"Mom kicked him out. Marie, my older sister, never forgave him. Mason, my little brother, hardly even knew him."

"And what about you?" I asked.

"Me," he murmured. "He tried to take me with him. I think that's when I was sure he loved me best. You're not supposed to pick favorites, but he did. Mom wouldn't have it, though. Court said I was hers."

"But-" I stopped myself. _Way too personal, _I thought. Still, looking at him, I felt like I had to ask.

"What about _you_? How did you feel? You've told me how everyone but you reacted. Do you even know how you felt?"

"No, I don't," he said, opening his eyes. He stared into the water. "Back then, I didn't know that the people I loved could be as terrible as the criminals on TV. I didn't understand any of it. I loved my dad. I loved the rest of my family. I just kind of let myself be pulled back and forth , not even caring if I was ripped apart in the process. It's not like I personally had a choice, but if I did, I would've been screwed. So I just blocked it all out while it was happening. I ignored it.

"Now I guess I resent him, but then I do what I just did. I think of him and smile. I remember him as my crazy, fun dad, not some terrible person that broke my mom's heart and ruined my family. Yet I still hate that person. I can't make the two coexist as a single guy. I feel stupid."

"It's not stupid," I assured him. "And your situation truly is a tough one. All in all, I'd say that everything you're feeling is natural and human. Just don't dwell on it. As long as he's not part of your life, I don't think it matters. Maybe it's something you should let lie for now, at least until you feel you're mature enough to really understand it. I think that would be your best bet."

"I guess you're right," he said, finally looking at me. "Thanks. And, uh, sorry for just dumping all that out on you. It feels good to get it off my chest, though."

"That's good," I said. "And I'm only too happy to help. I've never really had family problems myself, but I can imagine it much be rough. They're supposed to be the ones that shield you, after all. It's downright betrayal."

Marco nodded and looked away. I realized my mistake as soon as he did.

"Hey," I began, trying to redeem myself, "tell me about the time when Jean farted loud enough for the neighbors to hear."

He laughed. The sun started to come up.

* * *

><p>"Can I start calling you Grandpa Armin?"<p>

"Excuse me?' I asked, looking up from my breakfast. Eren had a joking grin on his face and a bad case of bedhead.

"I was thinking, and you're pretty much an eighty-year-old in a teenager's body."

"How so?"

He pointed at me. "That's exactly what I mean. You talk like an old man. You dress like one, too."

"No, I don't!" My cheeks began to warm. Eren was my best friend in the world, but sometimes I just wanted to strangle him.

"Yeah, you do. No normal guy wears button-downs and slacks as often as you do. Not to mention your food."

I glanced at my breakfast. Raisin Bran, milk, and vitamins didn't sound like "old people food", did it?

"I hate to agree," said Jean, "but he's got a point. Where's your sense of youth?"

I glowered at the two. "Youth is already innate in me. Why should I feel a need to emphasize it? I like what I like, regardless of whether it's associated with what the elderly enjoy."

Eren snickered. "So what are you saying?" he pressed.

I stood up, surprisingly almost his height, and narrowed my eyes.

"I'm saying that I can play bingo and shuffleboard and watch_ Jeopardy_, and you can't stop me."

Both Eren and Jean burst into laughter.

"What's with all the laughing?" asked Mikasa, who was sporting a towel on her head. She'd probably just come out of the shower. I'd run into her earlier that morning; she'd been all dressed up for a run. She was a bit of a health nut.

"Yeah, let me in on the joke, too," grinned Marco, sitting across from me with his own breakfast.

"It's nothing," I said, shooting Jean and Eren a silencing look.

"Too bad," said Marco. "I enjoy a good joke. But anyway, what's our game plan for today?"

"Our resting point today is El Paso, Texas," I said. "I've already made reservations at our motel. Mikasa's driving today."

"What?" Eren whined. "Why not me?"

"It's one thing if you endanger Mikasa's and my life. It's another if you kill these two in the process."

"What happens when she gets tired?" Jean asked. "Who's going to switch places?"

"She never gets tired," I assured him. Then I looked at Mikasa and asked, "But what if you do?"

She shrugged. "Guess you'll drive."

Eren groaned. "Please, not again," he begged. "We'll be driving until the apocalypse. Armin drives slower than a turtle walks. _Minivans_ pass us up. It drives me crazy."

"Why? Because I'm careful?" I challenged.

"There's a difference between careful and sissy," he shot back.

"You know what?" Marco said, probably unsure of whether we were really mad at one another. "Supposedly, Mikasa never gets tired, anyway. So that's that."

Eren rolled his eyes and went away to get some breakfast. I returned to mine, eating quickly so I could get a head start on things.

As for whether we were mad, it was complicated. Eren tended to be a bonehead more often than not, so I'd grown quite used to his less rational opinions and ideas. So I suppose I technically was a little irritated, but it's the kind of irritation I'd imagine you'd get from a sibling. I'd seen it with Mikasa and her little siblings, as well as Eren and his older brother. You forgive and forget soon enough, I'd learned.

* * *

><p>Mikasa was a much steadier driver than Eren, which I'd already known. She was very focused, responsible, and even polite. Somehow, she also managed to drive quickly. That was pleasant.<p>

Jean and Eren, meanwhile, were bickering over who got control of the music. Though they had similar preferences, each claimed the other's musical taste was terrible. To settle it, Marco had suggested that they have trial periods. He, Mikasa, and I would decide whose music we liked better. The winner would get to play their music for the rest of the day.

It was Jean's trial period. So far, I was enjoying his music, though- again- it wasn't too different from Eren's. Marco especially seemed to like it.

Every now and again, Marco would tell Mikasa to stop, and we'd pull over so he could get a good shot of some mountains. Both Jean and Eren found it annoying, but I could see why he would do it most of the time. He really had an artistic eye; most of the places he asked us to stop at took my breath away.

Once, he literally screamed, "STOP. NOW."

Everyone, including Mikasa, jumped. She pulled over.

A shaken Jean cursed at his friend. Marco didn't hear him. I watched his gaze, curious as to what could have possibly turned him this way.

On the side of the road sat a mountain like any other. The sun blazed above it, hurting my eyes. I looked back to Marco in confusion.

He kneeled and snapped a picture. Then he turned back, his eyes shining, and hopped back into the van.

Grumbling, Eren shut the door. Mikasa hit the road again.

Marco stared at his camera, grinning madly.

"So…..what was the picture of?" I asked, wondering if I'd missed something.

"The world," he answered. "Life as we know it."

"Cut the pretentious crap, Marco," Jean snapped. "You bursted our eardrums to take a picture of a giant rock. I would say I'm pissed, but I guess I should be used to that by now."

"Maybe it is pretentious," he admitted, "but it wasn't the mountain that made me excited."

"You pronounced _maniacal_ wrong."

Marco shot Jean a glare. "I'm serious, man. I just thought about how time continues. It flies so fast, too. It never stops. You can't rewind it. This second will never pass by again. Neither will that one. And, I don't know. I just got the urge to get one picture of life as we know it in this moment. That mountain's going to change. Maybe tomorrow, maybe long after we're all dead. Maybe it's changing right now. I'm just glad I got that second captured."

"Dude, we realized this in the third grade. Most people do. You just ignore that mess; it's not worth thinking about." Jean shrugged and turned away.

He was right. But the look on Marco's face said that he'd realized something else, something much more important than what he'd told us. Out of sympathy, I decided to give him the opportunity to try again.

"Was there more to that?" I asked.

"Actually, yeah," he said. "But I don't know how to put it. I guess I sort of….re-realized what I said. Like, it moved me." He frowned. "You know what? Nevermind. That didn't sound right, either."

What's the point?

"No," I objected, "I know how you feel. It's embarrassing, to say the least. But it- it _feels_ important, right? There's no way to really explain it."

"Yeah, exactly."

He was grateful that I'd understood him; he made that obvious. Still, there was an air of frustration and awkwardness between us, which irked me. I liked understanding and comforting people. I hated the barriers between minds, sometimes. Sometimes, I wished there was a way we could open our minds to others.

As Marco looked away from me, however, I didn't make an effort to reach out again. I probably wouldn't have gotten any further. You can't win them all, I suppose.

* * *

><p>"L."<p>

"M."

"N."

"O."

"Frick, where's P?"

"Look and maybe you'll find it."

"Dude, the only things I've found in this town are ugly stores and old white people."

"You say white like you aren't."

"No, I say white like it's an insult. And it is."

"How so? Anglo-Americans aren't inferior to any other race."

"What the heck is an Anglo-American?"

"A…..white person?"

"How do you not know that?"

"Because I'm white trash."

"Hate to break it to you, buddy, but we're all white here."

"Um….not me?"

"Marco, you're only three quarters Mexican. Get off your high horse."

"Mikasa's half Jap."

"Is is racist to say Jap?"

"That is the exact kind of question a racist Anglo-Mexican-American would ask."

"I don't think it's racist to say Jap. My mom never had a problem with it."

"See? Not racist."

"I think I'm, like, part Amerindian or something. I might be Mexican, too."

"What's with the 'might's? You probably aren't."

"Then what's with his skin? No Colorado white kid has skin that dark."

"Oh, true."

"Actually, Eren, you are a quarter Native American. Your dad told me."

"Suck it, Frenchie."

"Who said I was French?"

"But aren't you?"

"Well yeah, but how'd _he_ know?"

"Your name sounds like one of the rats from Cinderella. Anyway, why are you so unhappy with your race?"

"'Cause white people generally suck, man. Just look at history."

"Yeah, you got a point."

"Also, we can't dance or sing. The majority of us are prejudiced. And too many white celebrities are complete douchebags."

"Untrue. I'm a pretty killer bassist."

"I never said anything about instruments, idiot. But while we're at that, you've got the whole Indian thing going on. Your opinion doesn't count."

"Now _that_ was racist."

"No- I didn't mean it like that!"

"Anyone else notice that Jean's the only purely white person here?"

"Look who's the minority now?"

"Okay, that was racist, too. Admit it."

"Racism against white people doesn't exist."

"Um, it actually does."

"Oh, I forgot about Armin. He's purely white, too."

"But seriously, racism applies to everyone. I don't feel that it should be a joking matter."

"Says the Brit."

"Okay, for real. He's got a point."

"I actually agree."

"Ditto."

"No more racist white jokes?"

"I never agreed to that."

"It doesn't count if we ourselves are white."

"So now we're all white again?"

"Everyone but the Asian and Mexican."

"Is it racist to say Mexican?"

"Dude."

"What? I was just ask-"

"No, not that."

"Then what?"

"Dude."

"Are you messing with me?"

"I found it."

"Found what?"

"P."

"Dude."

"Do I win?"

"Not until you get to Z."

"Frick."

…..

"Where the eff is Q?"

* * *

><p>In the end, Eren won the music contest. Jean threw a fit, but he'd (more or less) won our alphabet game twice in a row, so it wasn't as bad as it could've been. According to Marco, that is. Jean, it seemed, hated losing.<p>

Speaking of Jean and losing, my suspicions were confirmed concerning his attraction to Mikasa. This was perfectly understandable, of course, but that fact didn't make watching him any less embarrassing.

He started by trying to initiate a conversation. I wasn't sure how much he had thought his strategy through, but he obviously hadn't thought as much as he'd needed to.

We'd stopped for a bathroom break. Jean had run off as soon as we'd come to a complete stop, and Mikasa was close after him (considering how well she kept herself hydrated, I wasn't surprised).

They came back with a considerable gap between them. I stayed in the car, perfectly fine for the next few hours. That decision was rewarded (or punished, depending on how you look at it) with a little scene between my asocial best friend and one of our traveling buddies.

There was a heavy silence, first. I knew Mikasa noticed it, because she turned to face Jean before he'd even made a noise.

He froze for a second, but shook it off quickly.

"Uh, hey," he said.

"Hi," she said back. "Did you want something?"

He swallowed and averted his eyes. I almost felt sorry for him. I'd seen this scene a hundred times before.

"No, not really," he admitted. "You're, uh, a really good driver. And you hair is- it's- its-" he cleared his throat "-r-really pretty. Just wanted to say that. Felt like I should. Ma always said that if I had something nice to say, I should say it, 'cause all I ever say is not-nice stuff." He laughed nervously. I cringed and turned away, unable to stand it.

I wanted to laugh, but I wanted to cry. This hurt in so many ways.

"Thank you," she said. "Were those compliments intended to help me see you in a romantic way?"

_Harsh_, I thought. But she had said she didn't like him all that much.

Still, even for Mikasa, this was rough. Way too direct. Almost offensively defensive.

Jean gulped. "Uh, y-yeah. I guess," he said, his voice faltering.

She nodded and looked him in the eye. "I'm flattered," she said. "But-"

She stopped. I caught her gaze, startled. Had she even known I was here?

"What is it?" Jean demanded.

I sighed and nodded. I know, I mouthed. She blinked in surprise.

"I…..have a boyfriend," she announced hesitantly, both to me and Jean somehow.

Jean scowled. "Who? Eren?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

She looked at me again. "A couple of weeks. We've known each other since we were babies. We're really serious."

Jean scoffed, his shoulders sagging. "Fine. Whatever. Thanks for being honest, I guess."

With that, he slumped into the seat in front of mine, crossing his arms and sinking into himself.

When Eren came back, Mikasa said something to him in a low voice. He glanced at Jean and me in surprise.

Though I felt bad for ignoring Jean, I smiled and gave the two a thumbs-up. They smiled back and nodded their heads in thanks.

When Eren took his seat in the passenger's chair, he and Mikasa shared a quick peck on the lips before she hopped back behind the wheel. He glanced back at me, as if to gauge my reaction.

I was actually very, very happy. Almost overjoyed.

Jean looked like he might murder someone.

* * *

><p>Thankfully, my best friends had the decency to be discreet about their affections. It wasn't that I would have been bothered by it, but I was worried about Jean. As was Marco, who noticed the change in both his and the couple's behavior.<p>

He nudged me. "Armin," he whispered.

"Yes?" I whispered back.

He made a gesture to Mikasa and Eren. "Are those two….."

"Together? Yes."

"Oh," he said, looking back at Jean. "I figured. Did, um- did Jean try to…."

I sighed quietly. "Yes, he did. It was a nightmare."

Marco reached forward, as though he was going to comfort his friend, but he pulled back soon enough.

"He probably wants to be left alone right now," he murmured, more to himself than me.

We continued to drive in silence.

* * *

><p>After a while, I noticed that Jean wasn't quite staring out his window.<p>

His head was turned, but his narrowed eyes were focused on someone. Eren.

* * *

><p>"Can someone please turn off the music?"<p>

Jean's voice was loud enough to pull me from my half-asleep state. The next thing I knew, we were all looking at him. Eren was glaring.

"I won this right fair and square," he snapped. "You'll get your turn tomorrow. Quit acting like a two-year-old."

"You can only say that because you're the one in favor here."

Eren started to rise, but Mikasa grabbed his arm.

"Eren, we're still moving. Put your seatbelt on."

"Who's the two-year-old now?" Jean taunted, not even a trace of a smirk on his lips. He was almost scary.

"If we weren't in this car, I'd pummel you," Eren growled.

Jean scoffed, bitterness in his every move. "Please, kid. I'd bash your face in."

"Jean," Marco finally snapped. Jean ignored him.

"Mikasa, stop the car," Eren demanded.

"No," she said. "Quit acting like a child, both of you."

"Who put you in charge?" asked Jean angrily.

"Listen to yourself, Jean," Marco said, sounding almost disappointed. "I thought you were above this."

"You're not my mom, Marco. And neither are you, Ackerman."

Eren was visibly restraining himself. "Don't talk to her that way," he snarled.

"Guys," I said, my voice wavering.

Jean turned on me. "You stay out of this too, kid. Quit protecting him."

"_No one_'s protecting me."

"Don't lie to my face, punk!"

"It's like you _want_ to get hurt!"

"Eren, sit down."

"_Stop the car_!"

* * *

><p>"Why'd you stop?" I asked, dizzy.<p>

"I didn't," Mikasa said, sounding confused.

"Now's our chance, Jaeger. You wanna go?"

"Nothing would make me happier."

The door closed. Mikasa, Marco, and I all scrambled to collect ourselves and get out of the car.

Jean ran at Eren, but Eren landed a solid punch to his throat. Jean began to wheeze.

"Eren, stop!" I shouted. Marco rushed over to help Jean, but he shook him off.

"Stay out of this, Marco," he snapped, his voice hoarse. "I can handle myself."

"Obviously not!" Marco argued, his voice shrill. Just as he was about to go and help again, however, Mikasa called him. I turned.

The van was in the middle of the street. It wasn't a busy road, but we couldn't just leave it there.

"I want to stop them as much as you do," Mikasa said, "but this is a bigger problem. Come help me. Armin, do you best with breaking them up. We both know you won't be much help here."

That didn't even hurt me. I nodded and jogged over to Jean and Eren, who were really tearing at each other at this point.

Eren was winning, which didn't surprise me. Still, Jean got whatever shot he could, and he was holding his own. He kneed Eren in the gut, and then kicked him in the chest, causing him to fall. As he took the opportunity to catch his breath, I ran over to Eren and checked his head for any bleeding. Thankfully, there was none.

He started to use me to get up, but I took his hand from my arm.

"Stop it," I said, an unexpected surge of anger bubbling through me. Eren's eyes widened. I stood up, acting as a barrier between them.

"Out of the way," Jean panted. "You're not the one I'm pissed with, Armin."

"Well, I guess that doesn't matter," I replied. "Neither of you are going to finish this. If you want to force your way through me, be my guest, but if I can help it, no one's going to get hurt anymore."

Eren, whom I hadn't seen get up, pushed me behind him.

"You lay one finger on him and you're dead, Kirschtein. You understand?"

"No, he's not," I insisted, pushing Eren back. "You both are going to stop this. Now."

"Armin, I will hurt you if I have to," Jean warned, moving closer. "Don't think you're that precious."

"You hurt him, I break you," Mikasa called from the van.

"Jean, quit being a douchebag and call it off!" Marco yelled. "You're the one at fault here, anyway!"

I think we all froze then.

"What did you say?"

Marco looked over from behind the van.

"This. Is. Your. Fault. Jean."

"Who gave you the right to decide that?"

Jean sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"I'm not your parent, Jean. But sometimes, I feel like I have to act like it. It's like you don't even know the difference between right and wrong. Everything is always everyone else's fault to you. I want you to stop that right now. Apologize and come help us get this van out of the street so we can call somebody to fix it, get back in the car, and go home."

Even from a distance, I could see the intensity in Marco's face.

"No," Jean said, resolute. "I won't."

"Jean, you're only pissed because you like her! Don't do this, okay?! You're only embarrassing yourself!"

"_What_?" barked Eren.

"Marco, shut up!"

"You started all of this because-"

Jean turned on Eren.

"Yeah, because I like Ackerman! But of course, she's stuck with you as her jackass boyfriend, isn't she?"

"You hardly know her! You hardly know _me_!"

"Did that change the fact that I got so pissed I had to sock you in the face? Maybe it should have, but it didn't, okay? I don't care if I'm acting like a kid. I just really, really hate you, and I want to beat you to a pulp."

Eren's entire body tensed.

"Glad we feel the same way."

They started to run at one another again, but I rushed to get in between them, my body moving faster than my mind.

"Armin, move-"

I was on the ground, and my nose was bleeding. Tears sprung to my eyes. I clutched my face, moaning.

"_Armin_!"

"I- I'm sorry-"

"Yeah, you really are."

"No, I didn't mean t-"

"What the _hell_, Jean?!"

"He was just there, I didn't-"

"You know what? Pummel him all you like. I won't stop you."

"Marco? I-"

"Save it. I'm done protecting you."

There was the sound of skin against skin.

Jean sputtered in pain.

"Stop," I tried to say, feeling sorry for him. "It isn't his fault. I got in the way."

A tissue was pressed against my nose. Mikasa helped me up.

On the ground were Eren and Jean. One was cowering, and the other was simply beating him.

I pulled away from Mikasa and ran to Eren, trying to pull him off of Jean.

Of course, he struggled. But when he saw it was me, he relented, breathing heavily.

"Hit him again. See what happens."

I'd dropped my tissue. A drop of blood landed next to Jean's head.

I extended my hand.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I was bluffing earlier. I didn't- I didn't mean to- now, even Marco-"

"If I can forgive you, they can, too," I reassured him. He took my hand and stood up.

I hooked his arm around my neck, using whatever strength I had to help him stay up. He had a black eye, a busted lip and eyebrow, hair full of dirt, a scraped knee, and a bit of a twisted ankle.

"Eren went easy on you," I half-joked, plugging my nose again. "There was this one guy, once, that got a couple of teeth knocked out by him."

Jean shuddered. "Does he work out or something?"

"He trains in hand-to-hand combat. It's part of his anger management. I'm unsure how well his parents thought that one through. Still, you held your own pretty well."

His posture slumped a little more. "If you've ever seen a kindergartener get mad at the kid that took his snack, you can understand where my strength came from."

I sighed as we reached the van. Eren had helped them push it into the grass. Everyone was eating lunch while Mikasa attempted to call someone (a tow truck, maybe). I stuffed a chunk of tissue up my nose to free my hands. No one looked Jean in the eyes.

I pulled out the first aid kit and asked Jean to sit in the grass. As I cleaned his cuts, he asked, "Armin, do you think I'm a loser?"

I chuckled a little. "Not really."

"That's nice to hear."

"Maybe it's just because I don't know you that well."

"That's a good point, but it's still nice to hear."

I threw the bloody cotton ball in the plastic bag I'd brought, rolling up Jean's jeans to wrap the gauze around his knee.

"Why do you ask?" I wondered.

He watched me bandage his scrape. "I just get it a lot," he said. "Marco's right about me. I act like a baby."

I shrugged and moved on to preparing an ice pack for his eye.

"You're immature, sure. But that's not all of who you are, is it? From the 18-odd hours I've known you, I can tell at least that much."

He snorted. "Well, from the 17 years that Marco's known me, he can tell that I need constant supervision."

"I doubt that Marco's really done being your friend," I said. "Relationships like that don't just end because you get fed up with the other's flaws."

"What about divorce?" Jean asked. "What about brothers that stop talking once they get their own families? That's exactly how those relationships end."

"Those relationships aren't as strong as your's and Marco's, then."

"Yeah, right," he said. "Look, I appreciate the advice, but you're overestimating us. Relationships like yours and Eren's and Mikasa's are the kind of relationships that you're talking about. I don't think Marco and I are that strong."

I dusted the dirt from his hair. "It's not like we've never fought like that before. Once, Eren and I didn't speak to one another for a whole two months. I'd reported something he'd done to his parents. I told him I was sick of his irrational and impulsive behavior, and he told me he was sick of my weakness. We only made up because Mikasa pointed out to us what we were throwing away."

"And what was that?"

"A brotherhood. A friendship that lasted a lifetime. Someone who knows you in a way you never can know yourself. A chosen sibling."

I handed some Vaseline and a cotton swab to Jean. "For your eyebrow and lip," I said.

He applied the Vaseline. "You think Marco and I have that?"

"Of course I do," I said. "Those kinds of things are hard to miss."

"You could be mistaken. You don't know us that well."

"I could," I agreed. "But I'm pretty sure I'm not."

He rubbed his lips together to spread it, handing the jar back to me.

"Well, thanks," he said. "Especially after I busted your nose."

I grinned. "It's not that big of a deal."

"To everyone else, it was. You're like their damsel in distress."

"It's just human nature. Not many people like seeing the weak get hurt. Eren and Mikasa especially hate it."

"In a way, it's like you're in charge here."

I blinked. "I wouldn't say that."

"Why not?"

"It's always been a cooperation between the three of us. Supposedly, I'm the brains. Mikasa's the muscle, and Eren's the heart."

"Smart, strong, brave," Jean muttered. "Ya'll make a good team."

I stifled a laugh.

"Did you just say 'y'all'?"

Jean looked confusedly at me.

"Did I?"

* * *

><p>Soon enough, someone came to help us. I wasn't sure what the problem was, but according to Mikasa, it was getting fixed.<p>

Both she and Eren had carefully avoided Jean this entire time. Marco, however, seemed to be struggling with his silent treatment.

He kept looking over in Jean's direction. He would make a move to stand, but quickly stop himself as soon as he'd started.

After an hour of this, I finally decided to push him out of his grudge.

"Hey, Armin," he said as I sat down. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," I answered. "Aren't you lonely sitting all by yourself?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I've had time to think, though."

"About what?"

"What I said to Jean. I mean, it was true, but I feel like-"

"Go make up," I interrupted. Marco looked at me with surprise.

"But I-"

"Jean already feels more than guilty. You've done your job. You don't even have to apologize; just be yourself again."

He smiled and tousled my hair. "You know, I'm really starting to like you."

Then he sat next to Jean on the ground. I took my seat back in the van, opening my journal to write.

* * *

><p><em>Day 3<em>

_So much has happened today, and lunch has barely passed._

_Where should I start?_

_Well, first of all, Mikasa and Eren know I know about them._

_Jean likes Mikasa, and he's jealous of Eren._

_They got in a fist fight when the car broke down._

_In that fist fight, I was hurt, which prompted everyone to completely turn on Jean (including Marco, who'd already been fighting with him)._

_Eren beat the snot of out Jean._

_I helped clean him up and make him feel like he wasn't a complete jerk._

_I also helped him and Marco make up._

_We're going to hit the road again soon._

_Also, it's been established that racism against white people exists, and I'm apparently an old man in a kid's body._

_So what did I learn today?_

* * *

><p>I stopped, thinking.<p>

Thinking turned to daydreaming, and once we hit the road, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.

I closed my notebook and laid my head down.

I would learn later. Right then, I needed a solid nap.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: What a terrible place to end a chapter.**

**Still, a lot's happened. I didn't want to overload you guys.**

**But Armin will learn from his life experiences soon enough.**

**As for Eren and Mikasa having siblings? I felt like that fact should be thrown in. I dislike it when authors leave out siblings so more focus can go to the main character. I understand, however, that in the snk universe, most families would probably starve to death if they had more than one child. So I just thought that everyone but Armin (and Jean) would probably have a sibling or two.**

**Also, sorry if certain parts are supposed to be italicized. For some reason, italics and bold don't transfer right from my computer to the fanfiction copy & paste thing, and I have to individually pick out any mistakes. Please forgive any typos, as well, as those are a result of lack of proper grammar and spell check.**

**Thank you for reading, and thank you all especially for your encouraging and thoughtful reviews! ****Until the next chapter.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>I do not own Attack on Titan or any of its characters. Neither do I own any other referenced works in this story. All rights go to their respectful owners.<strong>_


	4. Ineffectual As Ever

**Icarus & I**

**Chapter 4**

**In Which Mikasa is Sick, Plans Are Made, and I Am Still Ineffectual As Ever**

* * *

><p><strong>Despite Marco's and my efforts, <strong>the air was still tense in the car by the time we reached El Paso.

Jean had calmed considerably since lunchtime, but he still scowled every time he caught a glimpse of Mikasa and Eren. Likewise, Eren kept sneaking glances at Jean, as if checking to make sure he wasn't causing any trouble. Mikasa flat-out ignored him, even when he spoke directly to her.

He'd apologized, of course. Neither Marco nor I would leave him alone until he did, even though he was scared they wouldn't accept his apology. Mikasa had nodded in grudging forgiveness; Eren had stiffly shaken his hand.

As another result of their fight, everyone kept asking if I was okay, how my nose felt, etc. It was, in a word, annoying. But understandable, all the same. I was used to it, anyway.

It got me thinking. Why did people feel such a need to protect me? Even strangers were willing to stand up for me, I'd learned.

The answer, of course, was simple, but I couldn't make it make any sense in my mind. I was a thin, pale blond boy with girlish features, a tendency to cry a lot, and a polite demeanor. I was almost the image of innocent, or helpless, in a way.

On the other side of that, I was considerably wise. I would even say that I was more mature than most people my age. I was intelligent and strong-willed when I needed to be. What was there to protect in that?

Why was I someone to be protected? Yes, I was an image of weakness, and yes, I needed protection, but why couldn't I be as strong as anyone else? How did anyone know whether the nerd they were defending could defend himself?

I knew I was being ridiculous, of course. People protected me for the same reason men avoided hitting women. That was it. Heroic instinct.

I suppose I was just frustrated. The most I'd ever protected in my life were a couple of children, once. Never anyone as capable as Eren or Mikasa. I did prevent Eren from hurting Jean too much, sure, but even when I'd stood directly between them, I'd been too weak to last long.

This belonged in my journal, anyway. Why wasn't I writing?

"You should write that down," Marco said. I jumped.

"How did you-"

"It's easy to tell when you're thinking, especially about yourself. Mikasa told me about your journal. There's no point in it if you don't record your thoughts, right?"

"Right."

I promptly opened my composition book and began to add what I'd just thought.

"So Marco," I began when I finished, "how can you tell when I'm thinking about myself?"

"You're face gets really serious when you're thinking," he answered, "and you start messing with your hair when you get self-conscious. I put two and two together."

"Huh." I played with my hair? Since when?

"It's girly, right?" said Eren from the front. It was the first thing he'd said in an hour.

"I don't think so," Marco disagreed.

"Speaking of which, did you think Armin was a girl when you first met him?"

Marco studied me. I knew my face had become flushed. I hated it when Eren brought this up.

"If I'm being honest, I wasn't sure," he said. "His eyebrows and flat chest kind of ruined the image."

Eren snorted. the sound was good to hear.

"I used to make him wear Mikasa's dresses when we were little. He was pretty."

My face was red hot. "Cut it out, Eren."

"Well, you were," Mikasa added, half-joking. I turned away, half mortified, half ecstatic. She was talking now, too.

"I'd bet you were," Marco agreed. Now _he_ was in on it?

"Ugh," I groaned, hiding my face. "If I cut my hair, would you all shut up?"

There was a silence. I looked up, and then immediately wished I hadn't.

Eren's jaw was dropped mockingly. He looked around with a hand on his mouth, slapping the other hand on his knee with feigned excitement.

"Armin said the 'S' word!" he exclaimed.

"Shut up, Eren!"

"There he goes again!"

"I'm telling your grandpa," Mikasa warned.

"Let's calm down, now," said Marco. "Armin, wash your mouth out with soap."

I hid my face again. "Oh, my gosh."

"Did you just take the Lord thy Gosh's name in vain?"

The joking stopped. We all looked at Jean, who'd made the last crack.

Eren's face was simply shocked. Marco was grinning from ear to ear. Mikasa stared blankly at him from the mirror.

I cracked first. Soon enough, we all were laughing, even Mikasa.

"Armin's going to Heck!" gasped Eren.

"Gosh help him!" Mikasa choked between chuckles.

"Save him from eternal dangnation!"

"Shut up, guys, seriously!"

"The-...Ther…...There he….!"

At this point, no one could finish their joke.

Even if it was at my own expense, the tension had been washed away. This entire time, I had been wondering whether, in the end, we'd drop Jean and Marco off as strangers or friends. It was immeasurably pleasing to find that this was my answer.

* * *

><p>As a polite gesture (and upon my insistence), Eren gave up his rights to the radio. Quietly convincing him without alerting Jean had been a challenge, to say the least; when I brought up the subject, he'd almost screamed in outrage. Nevertheless, I reminded him that he would have the radio the entire rest of the trip, and that Jean needed a real sign that we forgave him. Partly because my argument made sense and partly because Eren surprisingly has a pretty big heart, he said <em>fine. <em>

After a stop for Mikasa to restock her food supply (at a suspicious-looking store with what looked like several health code violations), Jean switched seats with Marco so he could rest his head properly. This arrangement made it so that Jean and I were seated next to each other, close enough to have our own conversation without having to raise our voices.

"So Armin," he said after a couple of minutes of attempted rest, "what's your family like?"

_What a trivial question_, I thought. He must have been bored. Still, I was happy to answer it.

"My mom's a botanist," I said. "And a part-time post secondary teacher."

"A teacher's assistant?"

"No, a college professor," I corrected, thinking of how to describe her. "She's small and dark-haired, I guess. She's a very organized woman, a planner. She can seem a little stoic at times, but she's a very loving mother and wife."

"How about your dad?" Jean asked, genuinely curious, to my surprise.

I thought. "He's a therapist, but he teaches at the university part-time, too. He looks a lot like me, tall. skinny, and fair, even though I have Mom's nose. He's very protective of my emotions, to the point where it's almost smothering. He likes to joke, too. He sets up these elaborate pranks when he has the time, and God help you if you're his target."

Jean was smiling now. I wonder if this was how Marco felt earlier, swept into the images in his head, unable to stop himself.

"Got any siblings?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I almost had a baby brother, once," I said. "Miscarriage."

"Oh."

"But," I added, sorry I'd mentioned anything, "I have a cousin. We were close when we were younger."

His smile, to my relief, returned. "Tell me about them."

"Her name's Brianna," I told him. "She goes by Bri. Extremely competitive, especially towards me. She lived with my family and I up until the sixth grade, when she moved back in with her mom, my aunt. We keep up with one another."

"That's really nice," Jean remarked with sincerity.

Before he could ask anything else, I asked, "What's _your _family like?"

For whatever reason, this question caught him off guard. He stumbled for a second, trying to fight his obviously blank mind for answers, but he eventually came up with something.

"I live with my mom," he said. "My pops serves in the Air Force, but he travels without us."

"What's your mom like?"

He rolled his eyes. "Smothering. She babies me one minute, paddles me the next. She doesn't know how to knock, either."

I frowned. "So she just walks in? What if you're changing?"

He snorted. "That doesn't scare her. Once, she confronted me in the _shower_. She says that she changed my diapers and whatever, so it makes no difference, but it kind of does?"

My face flushed at the thought. "Ugh, that's so bad."

"Your mom doesn't do anything like that?"

I shook my head. "She'd never. My parents have always been about personal space and giving me room to grow and the like."

Jean sighed. "That sounds nice. Consider yourself lucky."

"I do," I assured him. "I mean, it's a little…._empty _sometimes, but I'm glad for it all the same."

"Empty?" he repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I shrugged, wishing I hadn't said anything about it. "Just lonely, I guess. I really don't mean to complain, though. I've always had Eren and Mikasa to keep me company."

He chuckled. "Sounds like you've got a good balance. I, on the other hand, have three parents: Ma, Dad, and Mohandas Gandhi over there," he said, gesturing towards Marco.

"So how long have you and he been friends?" I asked.

"Since daycare at church, from what we've heard," he said. "Ma and Mom- I mean, _his _mom- gush all about how we'd hang out as babies. Marco liked to hit kids. I stole everyone's toys right out of their hands. According to the available witnesses, we were quite the unstoppable team."

My smile was growing wider with every word. This was enjoyable. "How was he, growing up?"

Jean scoffed. "This is sounding like an interview, but whatever, I'll answer. Marco as a little kid, from what I can remember, was annoying. He was a crybaby. Towards, like, third grade, he started to get annoying because everyone liked him. Even worse, our moms set us up on playdates regularly, and he lived just down the road, so we were automatic friends. Next to him, I was a pile of turd. We're comparing this adorable little angel who was athletic and smart and cool and nice to a mean blueberry with legs who couldn't run across the playground without cutting his rolls open."

"You were….."

"Fat?" he finished for me, though that wasn't the word I'd have used. "Very. Kids on my block called me Fat Jonny. Kids at school called me Mrs. Puff. Wise guys called me Augustus Gloop. I could've rolled down Rainbow Road, I was so round.

"Anyway, yeah. Marco and I stuck together because we were what we knew. I tried to avoid him when middle school started, but then I was just plain friendless, and he was too nice to ignore me. Then, by the time high school hit, we were already best buds. Also, I'd thinned out and people liked me better."

"That's lucky of you," I said.

"More like I got so sick of kids bullying me, I begged my mom to help me get skinny."

"What? No, I was talking about your friendship with Marco."

"Oh." He looked embarrassed.

"You got bullied?"

"Of course I did. Big time, no pun intended. It was really bad."

A wave of empathy washed over me. "Same here," I admitted.

"You?" he asked, incredulous. Then he considered it. "Actually, no, yeah. I can see it. What for?"

"Almost everything," I said. "At first they went for calling me a nerd, but then they started to admire my grades. They targeted my looks instead. They called me Brittany, and they would trick substitutes into thinking I was a girl. During gym, kids would openly use me as a mark of failure. If you were behind me, you were an automatic loser. Once, some kids hacked my hair off. They told everyone I did it myself, which made no sense, but a lot of people- kids and adults alike- believed them."

"That's bad," Jean agreed, "but did they loudly announce it when your buttcrack was showing?"

I bit back a laugh. "No, but they gave me wedgies and hung me on the backpack hooks."

He hissed in pain. "That's a good one. Okay, in sixth grade, kids used to bounce stuff off of me, meaning I was basically hit with a random object every five seconds."

"Oh yeah? Kids used to stick gum in my hair."

"That's not so-"

"At my roots."

"_How_?"

I laughed. "Sometimes, I'd have my hair pulled up. Sometimes, my classmates pinned me down and stuck masses of it all over my head. They'd beat me up afterwards. For a while, my parents kept my hair in a buzz cut. It was awful."

Jean smirked. "Once, on a field trip, some kids made me pee myself by blocking the bathrooms and force-feeding me water. Later the same day, they pushed me down the river and told everyone I'd fallen trying to get a chocolate bar."

My eyes widened with shock. "I can't beat that," I said. "Didn't Marco try to help?"

"Well, yeah, but there's only so much one popular kid can do. Besides, these kids would get him out of the way before the prank was pulled, most of the time. Why, did Eren and Mikasa always save you?"

I nodded. "Eren was at my bullies' throats any chance he got. And all it took was a look from Mikasa, and they would take off. They're the reason I didn't have to go to therapy, because I probably would have, had the pattern continued."

Jean sighed contentedly. "It's pretty great just to have friends, isn't it? Like, that's such a dumb way to say it, but it's true. Sometimes, I just feel like I should stop and appreciate it."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I can completely understand that."

* * *

><p>"Mikasa."<p>

Silence.

"Mikasa."

More silence.

"_Mikasa."_

No words.

"_**Mikas-**_"

"_WHAT!?_"

Everyone stiffened with shock.

"Just asking if you were okay," Eren said defensively.

"I am," she replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

We were all silent, unwilling to answer. Eventually, as she began to grow impatient, Marco, Jean, and I all turned to Eren.

"Miks…." he started, clearing his throat, "You were falling asleep at the wheel. And your hands are shaking."

"I'm perfectly fine," she assured him. "But we need to stop soon."

"We just stopped an hour ago," Jean objected.

"Not everyone can whiz in a bottle, Jean," she flashed.

Jean, who had notably not urinated in a bottle since we'd met him, wisely said no more.

"You sure you're fine?" Eren asked.

"Eren, I swear on your brother's grave-"

"But he's not dead. And isn't it supposed to be 'mother'?"

"Eren, I swear on your possible grave somewhere underneath these tires that if you don't keep your mouth shut, I'm going to send you to your grave under these tires."

"That…..didn't make much sense," Marco whispered to me.

"Marco, I will scrape your freckles off and eat them as _sprinkles_."

Marco turned pale.

_Ears like a bat, _I mouthed.

"That goes for you, too, Armin!"

_Eyes like a hawk, _I thought anxiously, scared she could hear that, too.

Obviously, something was wrong. There were many things Mikasa didn't do; yelling, constructing long and specific sentences, being irrational, and threatening the innocent were all on that list.

My first thought was that her time of the month had come, but I quickly remembered that A) that was a sexist and immensely rude thought (as Mrs. Jaeger had ferociously taught me), and B) from an outsider's perspective, Mikasa didn't really get a time of the month. It was always a shock to Eren and I when we found out she was going through it, because she acted just as normally as she always did.

This had to be something much worse.

When we stopped, Mikasa was in the bathroom for thirty minutes.

"Is she okay?" asked Jean, looking worried. "First she snaps at us, and now this."

Eren couldn't keep himself still. He was looking pale, and he sat at attention, completely caught up in his own thoughts. He was most likely debating whether he should go to check on her.

He always got like this when Mikasa seemed to be physically hurt or ill. I understood his worry, too. She was one of the strongest and healthiest people we knew; she had to have something considerably bad to look off her game.

"I'm gonna check on her," he finally said, standing up.

"I'll go with you," I told him. He clapped a thankful hand on my shoulder, and together we jogged to the store.

Luckily for us, the bathrooms were the kind that permitted one person at a time, so we could speak to her without being overheard or interrupted.

Eren knocked urgently. "Miks, you okay?" he asked.

We heard retching in reply.

"Mikasa, can you unlock the door?"

More retching.

Eren darted away, coming back seconds later with an employee.

"Your friend must've had something rotten," he remarked at the ruckus, fumbling with the keys.

"We're coming in now!" Eren announced as the employee turned the burst into the bathroom as soon as it was unlocked, racing to her side to comfort her.

She was leaned over the toilet, which was filled with vomit. As I thanked the disgusted employee, Eren pulled her hair away from her face and rubbed her back. I kneeled next to them and felt her forehead, which was thankfully only a little warm.

"Mikasa," I said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she answered sluggishly. Her eyes began to tear up. "Armin, I need to lie down."

"I'm gonna get a bucket," I told Eren. "You stay here and help her out, okay? When I get back, we're going to carry her to the car."

"You're driving," he said immediately. "And okay."

Luckily for us, Marco and Jean came to help. I watched the cashier give us an awed look, and I supposed that we must have looked kind of crazy.

There's a little thing called Murphy's law. It says that anything that can go wrong will.

With Eren's cuts, Jean's black eye, my panic-stricken expression, and Mikasa's vomit, we might as well have been Cirque du Murphy. I found this funny, for some reason.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Mikasa had gotten some food poisoning. As neither Jean nor Marco had a driver's license, and upon Eren's insist, I took the wheel.<p>

Mikasa finally stopped throwing up once we were on the road. Lamentably, that meant that we had a large, full bowl of vomit on our hands.

"This is so freakin' nasty," Jean complained, choking on the scent.

"I'm with you on this one," Marco agreed. "Armin, what should we do with this?"

I shrugged. "Think of something, before we hit any bumpy roads."

"Luckily for us, at the speed Armin goes, it'll be like the bumps don't exist," Eren reasoned. I decided to take that as a compliment.

"Maybe we can stop at a ditch or something," Jean suggested.

"Good idea," said Eren.

Marco cringed. "But what if an animal eats it? Or worse, a drunk guy?"

We all collectively shuddered at the thought, sarcastically thanking him for the image.

"Would _you _like to drink it, Marco?" Jean challenged. We all shuddered again.

"Ew, no," Marco answered.

"Then a ditch or something it is. There's no other way to get rid of it."

Eren made a face. "We really should've waited until she was done to leave."

"Brilliant idea," Jean said sarcastically. "Hindsight truly is 20/20."

"Hey, stop here," Marco told me. I pulled over next to a patch of woods.

Marco hopped out, dumped the bowl, and ran back in.

"Floor it," he ordered. I did.

"That was probably somebody's property," Jean noted. I caught his eyes in the mirror. "In this case, Armin," he said, "'floor it' does not mean 'press the gas a little harder than you normally would'. In this case, 'floor it' means frickin _floor it._"

"I am," I argued.

Eren slammed his hand on his armrest.

"For the love of _Gosh_, Armin, hit the gas as hard as you can!"

"Oh."

I did.

* * *

><p>Mikasa was sound asleep by the time we stopped for dinner. By Marco's and my demand, we went to Subway, stopping at a park to our meals. The sun was beginning to set.<p>

"Hey, Marco, wanna go eat in that fort over there?"

"You bet."

The two hurried away, grinning widely.

Mikasa's head lay in Eren's lap. At an attempt to be more considerate, Eren had draped his hoodie over her face to avoid getting food on her while he ate. I didn't have the heart to tell him what a ludicrous idea that was, so instead, to avoid laughing, I pretended as though Mikasa had gone with Jean and Marco.

We ate in comfortable silence for some stretch of time. I watched the sun set while Eren spaced off, scarfing down his food within a couple of minutes.

"Thanks," Eren said once we both were done.

"For what?" I asked, trying to keep my voice soft for Mikasa's sake.

"A lot of things," he answered. "This trip is supposed to be about helping _you_, but so far, you've helped everyone else."

"I wouldn't…." I started, but Eren was already objecting.

"First, you invite these guys. Then you kept me from seriously hurting Jean, which sounded good at the time, but probably would've bit me in the back later. Plus, you helped him and Marco make up."

"You saw that?"

He nodded "I caught glimpses. And on top of all that, you helped us really forgive each other."

I shook my head fervently. "That was a mutual effort," I argued. "Just because it was at my expense doesn't mean that-"

"That's what I mean, Ar. You haven't even considered that you could have stopped us, just because we were embarrassing you."

"Eren, please, I'm not-"

"Armin, you are." He gave me a smile, a real one. His entire face relaxed, affection filling his eyes. I suddenly remembered why we'd been friends since kindergarten.

"If it helps any with what you've been fighting, you're a selfless guy, Ar. Thats not my opinion, either; it's a fact."

His words lodged something into my chest and throat. I nodded and smiled, not trusting my voice.

Eren wrapped an arm around me in a hug, a considerably rare gesture, coming from him. I was grateful when he let go, afraid he would hear me repressing my tears.

You see, I had come to a realization.

Eren and Mikasa both had so much faith in me. They respected me, loved me. I felt the same towards them.

But what I'd said to Jean earlier? About us being a cooperation?

I'd realized that that was a lie.

Sure, we made a good team. I contributed something important, and I wouldn't deny myself that.

Nevertheless, we lacked something very important in a team. That is, balance.

Everyone's strength had to match the other's. My brilliance had to match up with Eren's heart and Mikasa's physical ability. And, in ways, it did.

It was my weakness that threw everything off. As I'd stated in my journal, I could find no redeeming quality within me to justify it, not for all of my brains.

So all this selflessness Eren was crediting me with? It wasn't true. He and Mikasa were always, _always _protecting me. I only ever did them a favor once in a while. We weren't a team; I was a parasite, and they were my ignorant hosts.

After dinner and before we were back on the road, I finally found something to write in my journal.

* * *

><p><em>Eren is wrong about me.<em>

_I am weak._

* * *

><p>Our next motel was about on par with our last one. The only difference was that they didn't, in fact, serve food. I felt queasy at the thought of eating at the nearby McDonald's for breakfast.<p>

Mikasa had almost made a full recovery by bedtime, which honestly surprised neither me nor Eren. She was still sort of clumsy, but she seemed to be functioning just fine otherwise.

When it was my turn for the shower, I took it gladly, warily taking in the quality of the bathroom. A tad dingier than our last one, but it wasn't anything to cry over.

Once the water was on (the heat turned all the way up) and I was behind the curtain, I let my mind go blank, just standing there and enjoying the water running down my skin.

And that's when it made its grand reappearance.

_What's the point?_

There was an odd noise. It took me a second to realize I was wheezing.

_The point doesn't matter, _I thought desperately. _No one knows what it is, but-_

_**But what's the point?**_

_It doesn't-_

_**What's the point of you?**_

"_Shut up._" I hissed to myself, to my thoughts. I wouldn't let it crawl back. I wouldn't burden my friends again. There was no way I was letting it drag me down as soon as I'd started over.

For once, I rushed through the shower. I needed to get out of my thinking space. Thoughts were the enemy right then.

I tugged on my sweatpants and T-shirt, tying up my hair, swinging the door open-

And there were my two best friends, sucking face.

They weren't even just making out. From what I could tell, they were well on their way to third base.

Mikasa noticed me first. She sat up abruptly, grabbing her clothes and beginning to stutter something. Eren was a split second later, fixing his shirt and cursing under his breath.

There was something strangely disturbing and gross about it, like walking in on your parents. Feeling like my face was on fire, I muttered an apology and hid on the other side of the wall, hoping I wouldn't vomit.

"You're….out early," Eren remarked from the other side of the wall.

"Can we just, like, not talk?" I replied. "Please?"

"I vote we pretend this never happened," Mikasa said gravely.

"In favor," Eren and I chorused.

Thankfully, there was silence.

Until:

"Unless, of course, you're interested in a threesome-"

"Oh my _God _Eren!" Mikasa's voice had raised a few octaves.

"We could use your slender body-"

"This isn't even funny!"

Yet, as I screamed this, hysterical laughs bubbled through my words.

"You're on the floor for that," Mikasa said heatedly. Obviously, she wasn't as open to humor at the moment.

Eren and I shared the same awkward, painfully nervous, yet somewhat relieved guffaws . Mikasa made a heavy noise of exasperation.

I brushed my teeth and hair before sliding into my own bed, my face still hot and my head still spinning.

Later, I was grateful for the distraction. I realized that, had things gone as they normally did, my little voice would have creeped up on me sooner or later that night, and I would have been pushed right back down to square one.

* * *

><p><em>Day 3 Day 4_

_It's 2:27 A.M., and I'm scared. _

_I'm not afraid of the dark, though without this light I wouldn't be able to see. I'm not afraid of being murdered in a hotel, either. I mean, I used to be, but not anymore. _

_But now I'm scared. I can feel my thoughts spiraling out of control, running away from me. I'm thinking too much. It's too quiet in here. The AC isn't loud enough. Mikasa and Eren's breathing can't be heard from where I am. All I hear are my thoughts, my thinking, and I need it all to stop. Now._

_I've never had trouble sleeping. Not chronically, anyway. But tonight I do. Something woke me up and kept me awake. Something's out to get me._

_Even worse, that something is inside of me._

_I'm beginning to hyperventilate. I need to write faster, to get all of it out, but I can't. I can't write that fast, I never could._

_How do you stop thinking? Or do you never stop? Do you just keep on talking to yourself and talking to yourself until your brain dies? Why is it so easy to stop breathing when thoughts keep plowing through you, no matter what you tell them to do? I never told my lungs to stop, but here they are, stopping. _

_I can't breathe. I can't breathe. _

_I ca_

* * *

><p>I couldn't breathe.<p>

Eren was by my side in seconds; my breathing must have woken him. Mikasa wasn't far behind.

"Ar," he said, trying to erase the panic stressing his face, "listen to me. Listen to my voice."

His voice. Deep. Steady. Sure of itself.

"That's it, Armin. Just concentrate on what I'm saying. Hold on to every syllable. Keep your eyes on me."

Eren. He was caring. He was like my brother.

"You're doing great. Just focus on me. You're okay. Can you breathe? Breathe for me."

I took a deep breath. The spots clouding my vision disappeared. I hadn't noticed them before.

"That's great, Ar. Keep doing that. Don't stop."

I breathed. I didn't stop.

Someone was stroking my hair. They sat next to me on the bed, held my hand. It was Mikasa.

"You okay?" Eren asked.

I nodded.

"Listen, Armin. If you need something to do, watch a movie. Eat something. Read a book. Mikasa and I are here for you, because we care about you, man. Take care of yourself."

"Thanks, Eren," I said, feeling better. "I'm sorry."

He replied with a worn smile. "Just don't scare us like that. If you need anything, wake us up, okay?"

I nodded. Mikasa planted a kiss on top of my head, squeezing me one last time before following Eren to the other side of the room.

I did as I was told, grabbing the portable DVD player and popping in one movie after the other. Still, as I distracted myself, I began to sink deeper and deeper into a sorrowful, regretting feeling.

* * *

><p><em>I am so, so weak.<em>

* * *

><p>The next day, I woke to Mikasa shaking my shoulder. I'd overslept.<p>

After I grudgingly opened my eyes, she said, "I would've carried you to the van, but you're just not so little anymore."

The worst part was that she wasn't even joking.

I groaned as I sat up. There was a light throbbing in my head.

"You still probably could've done it," I said, standing up. Then, realizing that I was at least a few inches taller than her, I mumbled, "Maybe not."

We cleaned after ourselves, met Jean and Marco in the parking lot, and loaded up the van.

"Well," Marco said as Mikasa pulled out of the lot, "today's the last day."

"Finally," Jean sighed. "Can't wait to be back home. Ma said she'd make taffy."

Marco grinned. "Now _I _can't wait."

After a pause, he looked at us.

"Do…."

"Marco," Jean warned.

"Do you guys-"

"Marco, n-"

"Do you guys wanna stay over when we get there?"

"Heck yeah," Eren answered, not missing a beat.

"Sure," Mikasa and I said collectively.

"Great!" Marco replied, excited. "Ah man, Marie and Mason'll love you guys. And- Jean- we could show them the….uh…..the tree thing!"

"I don't wanna show 'em the tree thing," Jean mumbled.

"Well, too bad, 'cause I know you do, so we're going to."

"Do you see my life?" he asked me exasperatedly. I chuckled.

"So your mom's making taffy?" Eren asked Jean. "What kind?"

"The kind that's not for you."

"Yeah, Eren," I said. "We can't just expect Jean's mom to make a bunch of food for some random strangers."

"Oh, she'll make food," Jean said. "You don't even have to ask her. Every night is Thanksgiving at my place. Just don't go asking for stuff, 'cause she'll go above and beyond, and next thing I know, she'll have a stroke because she's worked herself ragged."

"Okay," I said. "Don't ask for stuff, Eren."

"So we're staying at your place, Jean?" Eren asked.

"I never said-"

"Yes, you are," Marco answered, shooting Jean a meaningful look. Jean sighed and stared back out the window. "My house is full. Sorry. Jean, call Ma and tell her."

"Whatever," he grumbled, pulling out his phone.

"I have to show you our town," Marco said to me, his face bright with elation. "Maybe we'll run into some of Jean's and my friends. I know Mom'll want to meet you. Dude, this is gonna be so awesome."

"Sounds like we'll have a blast," I agreed, beginning to match his level of enthusiasm. It was almost impossible not to be excited when Marco was excited.

Jean held out his phone to the rest of us.

"Ma wants to say hi," he informed us with a particularly flat tone.

"_Hi, everyone! I just want to say thank you for helping my son come home to me, and I'm honored to be hosting you later today. Have fun, kiddos! Can't wait to meet you."_

"Thanks!" Eren, Mikasa, and I said in unison. Jean put the phone back to his ear, looking as though he was considering suffocating himself with the blanket on his lap.

"Ma said hi, Marco," he said.

"Tell her I said hi back," Marco replied cheerily. Jean's frown somehow deepened as he passed on the message.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, I feel as though "firsts" get just a little too much credit.<p>

Don't get me wrong; being the first is always significant. Without the first, a series doesn't exist.

But consider the "seconds". Sure, the first put the idea into existence, but it wouldn't be a series if the second hadn't shown up. We tend to discredit many second times just because they weren't as memorable or as significant at first times, when in actuality, if it weren't for the second time, the first would never have grown into the 100th.

I say this because, while Jean and Marco were the first passengers, the first adventure we encountered upon the Jaegermobile (as we'd officially named it), our next ones were equally, if not a pinch more, important in the pattern that was set. The next set of companions we found changed the course of our road trip. They set a pattern, a series. Because they were there to be our second adventure, my trip turned from seeing some interesting sights to really and truly finding and healing myself.

This is where my story really begins.

* * *

><p>We were driving down a road lined along a sizable field. Jean and Eren were squabbling over the music again. I was reading, and Marco was staring out the window, camera at the ready once more. We'd only stopped a few times this time around, most likely because Marco was eager to get home. Once in a while, he'd turn to me and share some thoughts, but for the most part we stayed in comfortable silence. Well, silence plus Jean and Eren arguing. I guess that's not really silence at all. It's actually kind of the opposite of silence. Anyway, Marco and I didn't talk.<p>

After a while of this, and out of nowhere, the van slowed. All of us looked up at Mikasa.

"What's up?" Marco asked.

"Hitch hikers," Mikasa answered. "They look around our age. Should we pick them up?"

Everyone turned to me. I shrugged, straining to see who Mikasa was talking about. "As long as there aren't a lot, we have some room. It'll be kind of crowded."

"Oh, I see them. There're just two," Eren said.

"Hey, Jean. Open the door," Marco said.

Once we slowed down to them, I finally got a good look.

There was a boy, small-ish and olive-skinned, and a girl wearing cowboy boots, her reddish brown hair tied into a high ponytail.

"Hop in," Eren said. "We're kinda packed, but you should be fine."

"Thanks," the girl said, climbing over Jean to the seat across from him. After clumsily asking permission, the boy sat between Marco and me. Jean shut the door. The two held their luggage on their laps. Mikasa started driving.

"So what are y'all's names?" Marco asked.

"Oh, I'm Sasha Braus," said the girl, "and the midget next to you is Conny Springer."

The boy, Conny, bristled. "So that's how you introduce me? Not even, 'this is my friend', but 'the midget next to you'?"

Sasha snorted. "Well, you said you were getting sick of the bald jokes."

"So you make fun of my height?"

She shrugged. "Maybe next time you can do the introductions? You can say anything you want about me."

"What about-"

"Except that."

"Dang."

"Okay, shut up now." She looked at the rest of us. "So who are you guys?"

Marco piped up. "The girl driving over there is Mikasa. The guy in the passenger's seat is Eren. The guy with the two-toned hair is my friend Jean. Over across from me is Armin, and I'm Marco. Jean and I are heading home, and these guys offered to take us. They themselves are just driving around, if I'm not mistaken."

"Nope," Eren confirmed. "We've got pretty much nothing to do."

"Where are you going?" Mikasa asked.

"New Orleans," Conny answered. "We've been traveling around for forever, but-"

"- it's time to stop," Sasha finished. Conny shot her a glare, but she ignored it. "My cousin lives in New Orleans, so we figured we'd hang there for a while."

"Why don't you just go back to your parents' house?" Jean asked. Sasha seemed to really notice him for the first time. She gave him a dirty look.

"Not everyone can live with their parents after high school," she shot. "My dad's struggling with money, and I can't get a job back home. I'd just be a burden."

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine. Honest mistake." Still, she didn't look at him.

After an uncomfortable period of quiet, Conny said, "I can't live at home either, 'cause it's jam-packed. I'd be sleeping in the backyard."

"Seven sisters," Sasha explained, probably glad that someone broke the silence. Everyone but Jean gaped at Conny, who was beaming at our reactions.

"All of 'em are a pain," he said. "Except Jasmine."

"Jasmine's cool," Sasha agreed. "Anyway, thanks for picking us up. We were out there for, like, an hour."

"She ate all of our snacks," Conny complained.

"Well, Conny, I was hungry. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Have some patience?"

"You want to talk to me about patience?"

"Jean," Marco said, "tell Ma we'll have more guests."

Jean scowled. "Ugh. Can't you guys just, like, stay at a motel nearby?"

"Of course," Sasha said without an ounce of sarcasm, visibly forcing herself to look him in the eye. "We'd hate to impose. Please, don't worry about us."

I studied the interesting expression that Jean's face formed. There was surprise, irritation, and- yeah, definitely- guilt. Lots of guilt.

"I, uh-" He cleared his throat. "I mean, it wouldn't be all _that _bad. Ma'd be happy to have more guests, since she loves people. It would save y'all some money. And her food is good."

Sasha's face softened into a smile. "That's really kind of you, but we really-"

"Please, just accept it," he spat. The van was silent.

Sasha nodded.

"Alright," Conny cheered, "Actual food!"

"You saying my sandwiches aren't enough for you?" Sasha challenged, flipping switches at the first chance she got.

"That's _exactly_ what I'm saying," Conny confirmed. He was promptly met with a flying cap in his face.

"Then next time, I'll eat all of those, too."

"Like you weren't already."

For whatever reason, my mind flashed back to the night before. My head had been filled, overflowing, with thoughts and fears and crisis. Now it was quiet, observing, happy. How different these situations were. I suppose company made all the difference.

It wasn't until later that I realized exactly how true that statement was.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**It'd be cool if you actually read these. Most of it's talking to myself though.**

**And, after forever, I've skipped my homework to complete chapter 4. Really, I just wanted a chapter to show that "hey, everyone's cool again", then appreciate Jean and Marco's time there before they had to leave, and at the same time introduce Sasha and Conny. **

**As for the random (was it an anxiety attack?), I wanted to show exactly how random Armin's instability is. I feel like it's more realistic to keep him in a place of discomfort and occasional mental problems while keeping him out of full-blown panic and breakdown, since that's how it normally is for me. Don't get me wrong; I've never been so bad that anyone called an ambulance, but a lot of this does come from experience with instability and a mind that just won't shut up. **

**Jean and Marco's "y'all"s are written by a Texan with a portrayal of how we actually use the word. Sometimes we say "you guys". Sometimes, we say "y'all". Sometimes, we say "y'all guys". Also, in case you didn't notice, I thought it'd be fun if Jean called Marco's mom "Mom", and Marco called Mrs. Kirschtein "Ma", like they shared moms. I've always wanted a friend that close. Sadly, we always move before I can get any closer than "they come over for sleepovers on my birthday".**

**Sorry if I inconsistently spell Conny's name.**

**The walk-in scene was for A) comedy, and B) to keep Armin from being dragged back to his initial state. Mikasa getting sick was just to keep things interesting, I suppose. Writing her in a feverish, not-like-herself state was fun, too. Just a warning: I'll do that a lot. Throw in dumb plot points for filler, that is. I really suck at pacing; this is my way of patching that up while I try to learn to keep myself paced. Any suggestions for that?**

**Well, this just turned into me explaining why my writing sucks. Just look at the dumb scene where Armin and Jean are talking. You know what that was? A little foreshadowing, but mostly me writing out my headcanons. This chapter took forever to write, and it's full of crap because nothing was there to move it along. Luckily, the next chapter will **_**not **_**be the same. I actually have plans and plot. Important stuff. **

**Still, I hope you enjoyed the silliness here. Fanfictions are supposed to be fun, after all. That's why I love this site; I can write, and no one's gonna call the story police because I have typos or really sucky filler.**

**Again, thank you all so much for your- oh, wait, only one person reviewed last chapter. Still, thanks for you guys's support. I should be messaging y'all back soon. I'm so glad people actually like this. Like, it just makes me so happy.**

**Until next chapter. :) Really hope you enjoyed this one.**


	5. The First Solution

**Icarus & I**

**Chapter 5**

**The First Solution**

* * *

><p><strong>After a few more hours, <strong>Eren knocked on his window to get our attention.

"Check it out." He pointed ahead.

A sign was planted in the ground beside the road. It was solid, if worn, and simple.

_Welcome to Trost,_ it said.

"We're home, Jean," Marco said. Jean didn't try to hide his smile.

"Finally."

* * *

><p>Jean gave us the directions to his house. It was unsurprisingly simple, as Trost was a considerably small town. Most of it was made up of neighborhood, and the roads weren't complicated.<p>

"Here it is," he said, stopping Mikasa at a pale orange one-story. A garden embellished the well-kept front yard, a single, looming tree casting its shadow over us. It tangled with the other trees on the street, making the neighborhood feel like a sort of forest.

We decided to keep our luggage in the car until further notice. Jean and Marco led the way down the pavement and to the front door.

"Watch the grass," he warned me. Startled, I hopped back onto the pavement. Eren and Mikasa, who lingered at the back of our formation, made sure to do the same.

Marco rang the doorbell, which sang a short and simple tune. The door opened, and there stood Jean's mother.

She was a stout woman, and rather short. Wrinkles lined her face, some laughter lines, some worry creases. Gray streaked through her tawny brown hair, which she'd pulled tightly into a thin ponytail. As soon as she saw us, she forced Jean and Marco into a tight hug, ushering us all inside warmly.

I liked her already.

* * *

><p>Jean's house was cozy and comfortable. I was a tad jealous; my own house was filled only with modern decor and a plethora of cabinets, as well as some plants. I'd only ever lived in a homely, slightly messy house when I was with Eren or Mikasa's family. Again, it was nice to have a spotless living space, and guests were impressed, but sometimes, to me, it felt empty, like a mess would have been a sign of familiarity or company. Still, Jean pointed out rooms and decorative items sheepishly, as though he were embarrassed.<p>

"That's Ma's room," he said, gesturing to the door. "Don't bother her if she's in there. That right there is my bathroom, but it's also kind of the guest bathroom, so don't go in there until I say so, 'cause it-"

"-looks like a homeless man hides out in there and lives off of toothpaste," Marco interrupted.

"It's messy," Jean finished, lacking the energy to acknowledge him. "Down the hall is the guest room, where someone can stay, thankfully separated from Ma's and my room by Ma's office. Don't go in there, either; that's her work space."

"What do you mean 'thankfully'?" Eren asked. Jean looked at him.

"The guest room is where one- or two- of you will be staying. It's kind of small, so someone's gonna have to sleep on the couch."

"That didn't answer my-"

"He's giving you and Mikasa permission," I whispered. The words had barely come out right, I was getting so flustered.

"Permission to wha-"

"You and your girlfriend can have sex in the guest room, if you're quiet enough."

I didn't know whose face was redder. Jean allowed himself a small smirk.

Eren started, dumbfound and mortified. "That's none of your bus-"

Jean rolled his eyes. "All I'm doing is giving you permission, Jaeger. Calm yourself. Don't let Ma know, though. She doesn't care if you're not her kids, she'll call your parents and make you read a good chunk of the New Testament."

"Thanks," Mikasa said. She put her hair up; she must have been hot in the neck. "That's…..considerate of you, Jean."

He shrugged. "Once, I had to help Marco with something like-"

"Something that's not anyone's business, not even yours," Marco cut in, his face quickly flushing. Jean chortled. Sasha and Conny shared a look of astonished amusement.

I caught Eren looking at Mikasa, his thinking face on. It really wasn't any of my business, but I wondered if they'd actually…..well, to be juvenile, done it. A few weeks wasn't long at all, but I knew that Eren was impulsive, and that Mikasa didn't know what to do when logic wasn't the answer. I also knew that they were both still young, and that both were considerably good-looking, and that they were very, very close, which most likely mean that they were very, very in love, which could have lead them both to very, very irrational decisions.

Then again, what say did I have in this? Not only was I not them, but I myself was (unsurprisingly) a virgin. When my dad had given me "the talk" (this was so juvenile, I couldn't stand it), he'd told me that sex could be many different things, all of it depending on who you were asking. To some people, it was simply an activity, a way to unwind and deal with the stress of life. To others, it was the deepest expression of love they could muster. To many, it was a combination of the two.

I suppose I only would have been concerned had Eren and Mikasa had intercourse for the first reason. It really, truly, honestly was not any of my business, and just the thought made me cringe in embarrassment, but I was worried for my friends, concerned for their well-being. I wanted my best friends to fall in love the right way, because I couldn't stand the thought of them being hurt by one another. If they did have sex, I would have been worried that it was an impulsive thing, something not thought through, or worse, something without much emotion. Then again, as I'd thought earlier, I knew my friends. Eren didn't often listen to reason, and he had a bad habit of giving in to his temptations, but when it mattered, he was careful. Thinking about it, I doubted he would be okay with rushing into something he wasn't ready for, at least in this scenario.

As for Mikasa, she didn't have many strong urges or desires that weren't worth listening to in the first place. True, when bad urges popped up, she was unsure of how to deal with them, but I began to doubt that she would screw something as big as this up.

Just from watching them, I could tell that they weren't just trying one another out. Eren and Mikasa must have been in love for a long time, and they fit together so well, so seamlessly that their affections blended in until they were invisible. I wanted them to stay that way, maybe improve. I wanted them to be happy so badly.

_And meanwhile, Armin Arlert has only ever kissed a single girl, and he's dated zero. _

And there went that.

I sighed and moved on. Sometimes, I wished my mind would just be quiet.

* * *

><p>Jean proceeded to show us the backyard (beautifully tended and spacious) and the garage (yet another room we did not have permission to enter) before telling us that we could go get our luggage and pile it up in the parlor (<em>neatly<em>, as he'd emphasized).

As we did, I caught glimpses of Mrs. Kirschtein fussing over Jean's black eye. He continually tried to duck away from her, but eventually, she got him in a secure grip. Escape was impossible.

As I set my last bag down, I heard her ask, "What happened, Jeanny? Did you get into another fight?"

"No," I heard him lie. "And don't call me that. This was an accident."

"Oh, really?" Mrs. Kirschtein sounded skeptical. "You mean to say you didn't get into a fight with that young man over there?" She pointed to Eren, who had his earphones in.

"No," Jean repeated.

"Then why is his face all banged up?"

Jean shrugged. "I don't know, Ma. Stuff just happens, okay?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

I fought a small shiver. Jean froze.

"No, ma'am. I don't."

"Then tell me the truth. Did you or did you not have a fight with that boy?"

"Why does it matter?"

"So you did?"

"So what if I did? What would it change?"

"Did you apologize?"

"Ma, I'm not a kid anymore. Of course I did."

"Good."

Jean sighed.

"Jeanny, it matters because I don't want to see you caught up in your own foolishness. You've always been a stubborn boy, but there's a greatness in you that needs to show through. I don't want to see it choked away by spite."

"So you want me to be like Marco?"

There was a bitter edge to the question. I wondered if the subject had been brought up in the past.

"No," she answered. "I want you to be the best Jean Kirchstein there is. The caring, brave, strong boy your dear Mama knows. Okay?"

I heard a soft shuffling. After a quick peek, I knew that Jean and his mother were hugging.

Needless to say, Mrs. Kirschtein was right. From what I could tell, Jean was a good guy, maybe even a great one. He had all of the qualities of a leader, and despite his rough and childish nature, he was a respectable person. Maybe, someday, he'd find that out for himself. No one would compare him to Marco. No one would compare him to anyone. Jean would just be Jean, and that would be perfectly enough for all that knew him.

* * *

><p>Any description for how good dinner was would be an understatement.<p>

Jean did not lie about his mother or how she cooked. As soon as I'd caught a whiff of food, my mouth had watered uncontrollably. After a few minutes, I heard Eren's stomach growl all the way from the living room (I knew it was him because when Eren's stomach rumbles, it also kind of sounds like he has diarrhea, and it's a faintly disgusting sound).

Around ten minutes before we were called to the table, however, I caught yet another glimpse of something that maybe I wasn't meant to see. Again, Jean was involved.

The other party was less expected.

I was reading in the parlor. It was beginning to get dark, and it had come to my attention that, while Colorado was irritatingly hot, Texas was practically steaming. I wondered how anyone survived here, especially in the summer. Uncomfortably enough, I found myself in a lone T-shirt and some jeans I'd rolled up to my knees. I'd chosen the parlor to read because it was cool in there, and quiet. Nobody bothered to socialize or spend their time in the parlor for some reason, so my self-consciousness didn't get to me too much. I was perched next to the window, where a soft breeze blew through occasionally.

I suppose that neither Jean nor Sasha had noticed that it was open, even if it was a little cracked.

"Come on, Braus. Don't be this way."

Jean's voice was recognizable by its low nature, as well as the way he lightly touched his consonants and lingered on his 'S's, like he had an accent of some sort.

Of course, I knew the girl's voice was Sasha's. I was considerably good at remembering names, and I knew that Jean had a habit of referring to people by their surnames when he was being impersonal.

"I told you already, Conny and I are fine."

"If you're really struggling with money, then-"

"It's none of your business!"

A Southern twang revealed itself in Sasha's voice. I heard a clapping sound, imagining it was her hand hitting her mouth.

"What?" Jean asked, caught off guard.

"Leave me alone," she finally said, her voice back to normal.

"Braus-"

"It's Sasha! _Sa- sha._"

The twang was back.

"Where does that accent keep coming from?"

"None of your business, like I said."

"At least stay over. We're not asking you to borrow fifty million or anything, we just have to-"

"You don't. This is too much."

"Look, I'm not gonna stay back while you throw yourself into debt because you're stubborn, okay?"

"There's not even room for us!"

"There is! There's space in the attic, and we have an inflatable bed."

A pause.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Because Ma doesn't like making guests sleep there. It's kinda messy. But there's room."

Silence.

Then:

"Fine. We'll stay. But I at least have to help around the house somehow."

"I'll see if Ma'll be okay with that, but sure."

"Good."

"And Sasha?"

Another pause.

"...Yes?"

Jean spoke with some difficulty.

"Your, uh, accent's not bad. You shouldn't-"

"-Not bad?"

Jean growled in frustration. "It's _cute_, alright? I don't get why you got all embarrassed by it, I mean."

"Thanks."

Her voice was very soft.

Jean grunted in reply, and I tried my best to delve back into my book. I was beginning to feel like an intruder.

* * *

><p>"Full name. Age. Hometown."<p>

The words flew from Mrs. Kirschtein's mouth as soon as we were gathered in the dining room, plates ready in our hands.

I stood at full attention in response to her authoritative presence. "Armin Arlert, seventeen. Shiganshina, Colorado, ma'am."

"Fitting," she said, as though I knew what she was talking about. With a nod at me, Mrs. Kirschtein turned on Eren.

"Oh- uh, Eren Jaeger. Eighteen. Shiganshina, same as him."

She offered him a warm smile. "Strong name. Thank you, dear."

As soon as she looked at Mikasa, she was met with, "Mikasa Ackerman, eighteen. Shiganshina, Colorado. Nice to meet you, ma'am."

Mrs. Kirschtein looked pleased. "Gorgeous name," she remarked. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too."

"Conny Springer, eighteen, Ragako, Arkansas."

Mrs. Kirschtein looked him over, sizing him up. I could feel his confusion and fear. Jean had definitely inherited her narrow, piercing eyes.

"Good," she said, turning to Sasha. Conny relaxed.

"Sasha Braus, seventeen. Dauper, Arkansas."

"Lovely," said Mrs. Kirschtein. She looked at all of us, lined up military style (though I didn't recall making the formation). "My name is Cheryl Elizabeth Kirschtein. I am forty seven years old."

(At this, we all shared shocked glances.)

"I was born in Dallas, Texas. I believe that a person's name and their birthplace says quite a bit about them. And, so far, I adore you all."

A smile unquestioningly created itself on my lips. I didn't have to look to know that Eren and Mikasa, at least, were wearing similar expressions.

"You've found excellent friends, Jeanny." Mrs. Kirchstein told Jean. He kept his eyes averted from us.

"I barely know them," he muttered. "And quit calling me that."

"Okay, time for grace," she said, ignoring him. "Marco, why don't you lead us in prayer tonight?"

Marco nodded. "Yes, ma'am." As he bowed his head, I elbowed Eren to get him to follow suit. He elbowed me back once our eyes were closed, as if to say, _I was going to do it anyway._

"Dear Father," said Marco steadily, "we thank you for the food we have to eat tonight. We thank you for our safety and for all of the things you give us. We thank you for our guests, and for Mikasa, Eren, and Armin's generosity and kindness. We thank you for their friendship. Please bless this food and keep any impurities out of it, and please bless our evening to be one full of happiness and peace. Please bless the less fortunate, help them out of their circumstances. Bless Mr. Kirschtein, Lord, that he may be safe and have company in a foreign land. And finally, bless Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, and Conny on their journeys, so that they might be safe on the roads. In Jesus's name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," we all echoed. All I could think was that it felt like an honor of sorts, to hear your own name spoken to God.

I personally have no religion, but I think I do believe in a God of sorts. A higher being, an invisible and inescapable force. Something that created all of this, something that keeps it organized and fascinating. Something that can take it away on a whim.

I've been prayed over before, but not often, and not by someone I knew. There was a certain feeling I got over hearing Marco put in a good word for me. Maybe gratitude. I don't think there's a word for it, really. But I liked the feeling.

Anyway, dinner, as I'd stated earlier, was fantastic. Mrs. Kirschtein had prepared a feast: homemade bread rolls, hand-made mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, and honey-soaked ham, which she looked to be ashamed about, as it was a leftover from the day before. Her abashment made no logical sense whatsoever.

Once dinner was over, Mrs. Kirschtein insisted upon cleaning up herself, but the rest of us forced her to sit down as we cleaned up.

Sasha was a very efficient cleaner; she got most of the work done. Conny honestly tried, but he was so clumsy that we ended up excusing him from doing any more work, just to get him out of the way. I was worried we'd hurt his feelings, but he seemed chipper enough.

Jean and Sasha unintentionally became a team. He was her director, guiding her around the kitchen and how a certain dish should be washed and so forth. She was the one who put his directions to action. They were a force to be reckoned with, especially compared to Eren, Mikasa, and me.

Needless to say, we weren't half as efficient as Jean or Sasha. Mikasa was decent with cleaning, but that was about it. Eren wasn't so much clumsy as he was aggressive, but when he wasn't aggressive, he simply meandered around, lost on his responsibilities. After a while of this cycle, Jean frustratedly excused him.

I personally couldn't clean very fast, so I was put on leftover duty, which suited me fine. I've always been good with spatial guessing, so I hardly ever misplaced a food into tupperware that didn't fit it. Thinking about it, that's not really bragging maerial, but I contributed well, in my humble opinion. Within the hour, we were done. It was dark outside, and Mrs. Kirschtein had fallen asleep in the living room.

I watched Jean rush over to her, covering her with a blanket, fiddling with the AC, moving her neck to slide a pillow under her head. When he was done, he gave us each sharp looks.

"She wakes, you die. Understand me, Jaeger?"

Eren scoffed, but caught a look from Mikasa and calmed down.

"Of course, Jean."

"How about you, Springer?"

Conny only looked slightly offended.

"I'll use my inside voice, Dad," he mocked. Jean rolled his eyes, kissing his mother's forehead shortly thereafter. It was a funny contradiction, but I didn't dare laugh.

Instead, I took a seat at the dinner table again, exhausted from all of the cleaning. I was smiling, I realized. I was having a good evening.

"You wanna head outside, babe?" I heard Eren ask.

Mikasa snorted softly. "Did you just-"

"Figured I'd try it out."

"I think I like it. Let's go."

Then Conny's voice.

"So what do we do now?"

Sasha. "I guess we could walk around. Or watch a movie. Once _Jean _gives me the WiFi password, that is."

"I'm telling you, I don't remember."

That one was Jean. I heard a smirk in his words.

"Yeah, you do," Marco said. "I'll tell 'em if you don't."

Things were going well. My stomach was full, the house was getting colder, and I was surrounded by all of these wonderful strangers. Mrs. Kirchstein was resting, my best friends were loving, my newer friends were joking.

Even the light above the dining table was soft, buttery. I rested my head in my arms. My bangs were a much different yellow. Not golden, but not yellow like a daffodil, either. They stood out from the light. It was an intriguing sight.

Was there a point? I didn't know.

But I did know that this moment was a snapshot that would fade, a second never to pass by again because time moves in a straight line, forward and never backward. I knew that I'd never see that stiff strand of yellow hair against the honey light again. At least, never in the same way. And, while things would repeat over and over again- friends would joke, tired mothers would find rest, lovers would explore themselves- there was no moment like another in exactness. Kind of like people.

This was all because life kept moving. Soon enough, that light bulb would shift into something harsher. Sometime, Mrs. Kirchstein would wake. Eren and Mikasa would come back from their stroll, hands locked together. Jean, Marco, Conny, and Sasha would all leave the group, one at a time.

Maybe the point didn't matter. Perhaps the answer was to simply move with the flow of time, not wasting a second over impossible questions, instead enjoying each moment in its preciousness and saving it for later, for less glorious moments.

I liked that answer. It didn't necessarily feel true, not completely, but I liked the thought.

* * *

><p><em>Day 4<em>

_We're in Jean's house in Trost, Texas. It's lovely here. _

_Today we picked up some hitchhikers, named Sasha and Conny (or is it spelled with an 'ie'?). Sasha's funny and likeable, and very strong. Conny's just as funny, if not funnier, and he's clever. He's definitely not book smart, but he has a knack for finding shortcuts. I like them. We're taking them to New Orleans._

_Jean's mother likes names. She's one of those people that you love instantly, like she was born to be a mother figure of sorts. She's just as stubborn as Jean, but much kinder (though today I think I've seen a side of Jean that exhibits the capacity of his heart, and I have to say that it's quite large)._

_I have an answer to my question, about what the point is and whatnot. It's not __**my**_ _answer, so it's not enough, but it's a good one, so I feel the need to write it down._

_The point could simply not matter. Maybe the best way to live this life is to ignore the point, instead living in the moment and enjoying each second we're all graced with. _

_But I can't do that, and this is why this can't be my answer._

_If I were a different person, I could accept this. But I'm not. I'm me, and I need closure. I can't just ignore the question altogether, because- well- because I'm missing an extremely crucial fact. Facts mean solidarity, and I need a substantial idea to complete this puzzle I'm standing in. _

_It's like we're all in this tube of air, and there's this hole that's sucking all the air out. Some people would try to enjoy their last precious breaths, but I'm not satisfied with that. Because of who I am, I need to find the plug to the hole. Even if it costs me my last moments, I can't quit looking for it._

_But I've found something, at least. Something is better than nothing._

_Well, it's late, and due to Mrs. Kirschtein's (seemingly) permanent placement on the living room couch (aka where I was supposed to sleep), I'm staying in Jean's room while he sleeps in his mother's bed. His bed is perfectly comfortable, and his entire room smells pleasant, like freshly cut flowers. Oh. I just realized that that would be because there are pots of flowers on his window sill. That's lovely. I wonder if his mother just cleans and cooks most of the day. She must be a very dedicated woman. _

_Well anyway, as I was saying, I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome in Jean's room. The earlier I rise, the better._

_Good night._

* * *

><p>And a good, dreamless, restful night it was.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The next chapter is literally right there. I wrote both, for reasons explained in the next author's note. Merry Christmas (and happy holidays)!**

**(Also, I keep seeing more and more typos as I reread my chapters, so please forgive me.)**


	6. The First Good-Bye

**Icarus & I**

**Chapter 6**

**The First Good-Bye**

* * *

><p>"<em>Armin."<em>

I started at the sound of my name. Someone was shaking my shoulder.

"Hey. Morning, bud."

I couldn't tell whether it was Jean, Marco, Eren, or the President of the United States of America talking to me.

"...It's still dark," was all I could manage. My words were squeaky and small.

Finally, my eyes had fully adjusted to the dark. Marco's rounded features revealed themselves to me. I thought he was smiling.

"Okay, man, grab on some clothes and meet me in the parlor. You've got fifteen minutes."

"To sleep?"

"To be ready. Armin, I'll drag you out of here with just your boxers and T-shirt on, if I have to."

I think that's what drove me to action. Even while half-asleep, I was totally unwilling to go out in public with my underwear in sight.

So Marco left, and with reluctance, I hurried to pull on some jeans, my sneakers, and a T-shirt I only suspected later of being Eren's (I didn't quite catch how loose it was on me when I put it on).

When I met Marco in the parlor, he giggled and smoothed down my hair.

"You look like death," he said.

"I feel like death," I replied. "What time is it?"

"Four a.m."

"Marco, I can't do whatever this is. I went to bed at midnight, and it kind of runs in my family to have low tolerance for getting less than five hours of sleep."

"Ar, this is important, okay? Just come on. You'll have fun once we get some coffee."

I stiffened at the sound of my nickname. Only Eren ever called me that.

But it wasn't like I disliked Marco using it.

I nodded. Marco grinned and grabbed my arm, silently closing the front door behind us as we left.

It was pleasant out. I half-wondered when the sun would come up and burn us to death.

Marco hopped into a minivan on the driveway next to our own van. It hadn't been there the day before. Also, Marco didn't have a license, which I pointed out to him.

"I have my permit," he dismissed. "Around here, this early, no one's gonna notice us. And if they do, the officers know me. We won't get into any real trouble."

"What are we even doing?" I finally asked.

"Armin," he said excitedly, "you and I are going on an adventure."

* * *

><p>Our first stop was the gas station. This van, Marco explained, was his family's, and his sister had given him the keys the night before. He filled up the tank and ordered me to fetch us coffee.<p>

"Fill mine up with as much creamer as you possibly can. And buy whipped cream."

Because I was confused, bewildered, and just a tidge excited, I followed Marco's example and filled my own coffee with creamer, though I myself was more of a milk and sugar fan. The cashier looked at me curiously when I checked out.

"You from around here?" she asked. She was young, maybe around my age. Low pigtails framed either side of her face.

"Nope," I answered. "Just, uh, staying over with some friends."

"I thought not," she said. "In that case, welcome to Trost. Hope you enjoy your….two cups of coffee. And your entire can of whipped cream."

"Thanks."

I didn't bother trying to correct her, but something told me she was just joking around in the first place.

Marco was waiting in the driver's seat when I got back. I told him about the girl, asking if he knew her.

"Ah," he said, furiously attacking his coffee with whipped cream. "Yeah, that was probably Mina. I would drop in and say hi, if we had the time. I'll see her later, anyway. Glad you met her; she's basically the only other person that Jean and I hung around this last year. Her and Samuel. Plus, she's cute. Did you think she was cute? She's really darn cute."

"I guess she was cute," I answered, gladly taking the whipped cream he offered me.

"No, Armin. Mina is _the _cute. She is the essence of Cute. Do you understand?"

"I didn't really take the time to memorize her face or anything."

Marco huffed. "The face of Mina Carolina is something to behold. You just want to pinch her cheeks until they're tomato-red."

I shrugged. "Again, I didn't really notice her."

"Do you do this with all girls?"

"Do what?"

"Ignore them. Like, I don't know, have you ever had a girlfriend?"

I laughed. It was a short, incredulous sound. "No, never."

He strapped on his seatbelt and started the engine. "Well, are you not interested in girls?"

"Pretty sure I am," I answered, thinking about past experiences. "Probably exclusively."

"Well, what you just said is why, then! Romance may not be everything, but if you've never had it, you don't know what you're missing out on. Step up your game a little."

I snorted. I had no "game" to begin with.

"Marco, I've crushed on two girls total in my lifetime, and I believe that I have the right to say that that kind of thing is not for me."

"So you're giving up on it?"

"No," I corrected, "I'm being patient. For….someone special, I suppose."

"Special," he repeated. We were getting back on the road. "Like...what? What's your ideal?"

Again, I shrugged. "It's hard to think of one when the looks aren't what I'm necessarily after. They can come in any package. I do think, nevertheless, that I have preferences personality-wise."

"And those would be…."

"Someone smart, definitely. Maybe not as nerdy as me, but someone who can understand the world complexly and with an open mind. Definitely someone who likes learning, too."

"Is there more?" Marco asked after a pause.

I shrugged. "Not really. Like, it would be nice if they understood my silly references and were smaller than me and were kind and funny, but I feel like that's not only unfair, but it's kind of impossible."

"That's actually a really good point," Marco mused. "But okay. Do you ever just think a girl's pretty or anything?"

"Of course. Mikasa, for example."

"Okay, _besides _your mom."

I allowed myself a smile at that. "Okay, I suppose that Sasha is pretty. Her hair's a very nice color, and her face has a naturally sweet nature to it."

"Anyone else?"

"Umm…..Eren's mother is _very _beautiful-"

"Are you seriously-"

"Alright. How about I tell you about my first and only kiss? If I do that, we don't have to talk about this any more. Deal?"

Marco's face brightened. "Definitely. Deal."

If I were being honest, though I was glad to have Marco (mostly) off of my back, I didn't like telling the story. Still, as we rolled down a secluded highway, I started.

* * *

><p>Her name was Rachel, and she was indeed very pretty. She was around my height, maybe a little shorter, with dark brown curls she kept short and large, round eyes the same color. Her face was heart-shaped, and she had this adorable button nose. She was soft, and curvy. If you looked at her one way, she was noticeably cute. If you looked at her another, she was beautiful.<p>

Rachel was a hard worker. A straight-A student, she was ranked just a few people below me in our school. I was number three; she was number seven. She was interested in foreign cultures, specifically Middle-Eastern and East Asian. She spoke a plethora of languages fluently.

In relation to me, she was a distant friend. We talked, but not often. Still, when we did talk, our conversations were pleasant and interesting. I liked her.

Eren was in football his freshman and sophomore year, and Mikasa was in soccer every year up until she was a senior. We had plenty of jock friends, so even I was well-known and, surprisingly, liked in those sorts of cliques. For the heck of it, we were invited to a big game in our junior year, even though by that time Eren had been more into basketball. And, because we were at the game, we were invited to the afterparty. I wasn't a big fan of parties, so if it were up to me, I would have declined, but Eren wanted to go, and some of Mikasa's jock buddies and fanboys absolutely begged her to go. Knowing Mikasa would be occupied, I went to keep track of Eren.

At first, I did exactly what I was supposed to: kept Eren away from the alcohol, kept him calm when someone angered him, talked him out of stupid ideas. But after some time, these girls started flirting with him (though I doubt he realized it), and I felt awkward just standing there, so I told him I'd be on the couch.

Seeing what the couch was occupied with (the kind of thing you'd expect), I hung by a wall, wishing there were a quiet place to go that wasn't already taken. I strongly disliked parties for this particular reason. They were simply too loud, too overloading. I didn't understand how people enjoyed it.

"Hey," someone half-shouted in my ear. If they hadn't, I wouldn't have heard them.

I turned, and there was Rachel Delaney, smiling at me. She was overpoweringly cute, in her slipping glasses and oversized hoodie. Her curls were loose from their usual ponytail.

"You look very nice," I said. My voice wasn't loud at all, but I supposed she understood me, because her smile widened.

"You don't look half bad yourself," she returned. I glanced down at my outfit: jeans and a sweater over the button-down I'd worn that night. It was what I usually wore outside of school; I wondered what she found different.

She read my expression well. "I mean generally," she clarified. She might have laughed, but I couldn't tell.

_She thinks I look nice? _I thought. This was definitely a first.

Attributing her compliment to my sudden and recent growth spurt (5 inches in six months, most likely a record of some sort), I brushed it off as just that: a trivial compliment.

"You wanna go somewhere quiet?" she asked.

"If you know a place, then please," I answered with gratitude.

She took my hand and led me to the backyard. From there, the music was a dull pulse. I worried a little about Eren, but I could see him from the window. The girls were still trying their best to make a pass at him. He was still...well, being Eren.

There were a few couples out here, but I only suspected one of needing some real privacy, and once my suspicions were confirmed, they quickly removed themselves from the rest of our presences.

Rachel and I sat on a bench on the porch. We were awfully close, her arm touching my side, but I thought nothing of it. She was probably chilly, and I didn't blame her.

We just sat and listened to the night for a while, until she finally broke the silence.

"Why do you keep your hair so long?" she asked me, holding a strand of said hair in her hand. The gesture surprised me a little, but I was more or less used to people playing with my hair by then.

I shrugged. "It's just the way I've always had it, since I was little. I think my mom didn't want to cut my hair when I was younger, so she let it keep growing. It's nice to have, though. There's no real point in keeping it this way, but I have a sort of attachment to it, if that makes sense. I think I would panic if it were cut."

She laughed. "That's cute."

My face flushed. Normally, I disliked being called "cute", but I didn't feel insulted when Rachel said it. It felt like a genuine compliment.

There was more silence. Rachel was one of those people that you could be quiet with, no matter how close or distant you were.

Then she shifted away from me, looking me in the eye.

"Okay," she said. "I have a...game. We can play. Close your eyes."

Though I was confused, I obeyed. "What kind of game is it?"

"God, you're cute."

"Excuse m-"

And, next thing I knew, she'd stolen my first kiss.

I didn't respond, mostly because I didn't know what to do. But she guided me through it, placing my hands on her waist and telling me how, exactly, to kiss back. Rachel was that kind of person, logical and ready to utilize whatever tools she had to get what she wanted. In this case, her tool was knowledge.

I thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn't know where she got her experience, but it was obvious that she wasn't a novice. But what _really _confused me is that she chose me. Armin, aka Brittany, aka Coconut Head, aka "that one smart kid".

Rachel Delaney thought that I, of all people, was cute.

Interesting.

* * *

><p>"Okay, but details?" Marco asked. I blushed.<p>

"One thing."

"What?"

"She kept saying things in different languages."

"Like...?"

"Um, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, some more obscure ones. I told you she was...multilingual, I think the word is. I understood some stuff, but most of it was lost on me. It was...attractive.

"Anyway," I continued, ignoring Marco's grin, "so yeah. That was my first and only kiss. I suppose it was a good one, though it was a little awkward."

"So she liked you?"

"I don't think so, no. At least, not in a personal way. After watching her for some time, I came to realize that Rachel was just the kind of girl who reached for something when she wanted it. And, that night, she wanted to kiss me, or teach me to kiss, more like, because I guess she found me cute. She allowed herself to burst down most social barriers and unwritten rules just to get what she wanted. Our relationship pretty much remained the same afterward."

"What was some of the stuff she said?"

I folded my arms and turned toward the window. "Uh, nothing important."

"You sur-"

"Positive, Marco. Confident in my judgment."

Again, I tried to ignore Marco's teasing smile. He hadn't seemed like the teasing type to me at first; I'd felt that he was too polite for it. Though I always felt uncomfortable and awkward discussing experiences such as these, I became glad that he'd asked. I felt that we really were friends.

"It's a shame you're leaving today," he sighed. Marco was beginning to make me reconsider the improbability of mind-reading.

"It really is," I agreed. "But on the bright side, we can always call each other or chat online."

He gave a half-hearted nod. "I guess. If school doesn't keep us too busy."

We stopped in front of a small Wal-Mart. "What school are you going to?" I asked.

"Well, my first choice was Sina U-"

"Really? That's where I'm going!"

His eyes widened in utter shock. "_Sina University? _Dude, how loaded are your parents?"

Embarrassment began to overtake me. I wished I could take back my exclamation.

"I mean, they're payed well, since they're college professors, but that doesn't really have much to do with it..."

"How? How does it not?"

Again, I'd said too much. I wondered if I was upsetting him.

"...I...got a full scholarship. I guess."

Marco's jaw hit the floor.

"You _guess?_"

"It's really not that big of a deal, I've just always liked school, and I do well on exams-"

"Armin! _What _is your IQ, man?"

"...156?"

Marco clapped his hands together, bowing his head.

"Marco, what-"

"I am in the presence of a god. Have mercy on me, o wise one. Let your colossal brain spare me from consumption!"

I chuckled, relaxing. "Oh, come on. IQ's and scholarships don't mean that much, and you know it."

Marco's head bowed even more deeply. "O, Great Arminius, god of Knowledge and Eyebrow! I apologize for disgracing your presence with my absurd but totally justified worship!"

"Marco, quit already." My chuckles were turning into serious, hiccuping laughs.

"Okay, okay," he relented. "Just...jeez. Wow. You're really, really smart. Like, close to Albert Einstein smart."

"I suppose," I said. "That's what people tell me."

"Do _you _believe it?"

"I guess I have to-"

"But do _you_ think you're smart? No humility from you, no judgment from me. Just honesty."

I could have dodged the question. Sure, I liked Marco, and we were friends, but this felt too forward. I hadn't answered this question yet, not even to myself.

But I remembered a few things. Firstly, that it would be hypocrisy to give Marco anything but the truth when I myself had asked him a question this personal, maybe even more so. Secondly, that I was sick of these barriers that society builds in our minds, separating us simply because our culture values personal space and individuality (both of which are important, of course, but I believe that the principles set around preserving these concepts should not be used 24/7, as it limits the wonders of human closeness. If there's one thing that irks me, it's the idea of a stranger). Thirdly, that if I wanted to find myself, this was a good first step in the right direction. If I were to ask myself what I thought of Armin Arlert, what would I say? Not Armin as in me, but Armin as in Armin, as a whole. If I were God, or an alien, or some being that watched over me without ever knowing who I was, what would I say?

"I think...I think I'm a genius of sorts," I answered. "And there is some positive connotation in that word- genius, I mean- but there is just as much negativity, if not a little more. Many people highly value having an abundance of intelligence, and maybe that's because geniuses, or their names, are immortal to us. But actually having the trait, I feel like it's simply something I'm good at. I'm just a naturally gifted thinker, like some people are gifted with strength, or some with bravery, or some with creating things. Our society places an emphasis on intelligence, because thinkers are what our economy needs, but in actuality it's no greater than being a gifted pianist, or being incredibly attractive or funny. Like you, for example, Marco. What's your IQ?"

Marco, looking a little dumbstruck, stuttered, "Uh- 114."

"So you're maybe not an _incredible_ thinker, according to a test, though you're above average. But do you know how you're a genius, Marco?"

"How?"

"You inherently know how to treat people. Your gift is handling people, and you are the kindest, gentlest, most understanding person I've met in a long time. My guess is that a lot of people like you? No humility, no judgment here. I'm right, aren't I?"

He nodded to confirm this.

"It's because you're the kind of person everyone needs. You'll be there to love anyone at any time, and most people can't say that they're the same. You've pretty much given up your life in service of others, and you've never needed a push into that direction, because it's your gift. That's how you're a genius. And maybe Sina University didn't ask you whether you'd be there to keep someone company or whether you'd protect a stranger or whether you'd counsel your worst enemy in his best interest, but that's not how genius should be measured in the first place."

Marco was still. It took me a moment to see that his eyelashes were dripping.

After a second, he sniffed and wiped his eyes with his arm. He laughed.

"Jeez, Armin, this was supposed to be about _you_. You've ruined everything now."

"Everything?"

"The entire reason I brought you out this morning. To hep you learn about yourself."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at me. "Mikasa told me everything. About the breakdown, your panic attacks, how you've always been fighting this. Everything. Once I heard about why you're traveling, I wanted to help. Last night, I decided that this was how I'd add to your journey, and that's why I was asking you questions and stuff. Partly because I want to know you better, yeah, but mostly to help you think about yourself. And you just flipped this entire scenario back toward me. You just..." his voice choked up. "Don't do that to me, Ar."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize, you douchebag! That was the most beautiful thing anyone's ever told me about myself. Do _not _apologize for what you just did. My dad never told me that, my mom never told me that, my siblings never told me that. Only Jean ever came close. He just told me, one day, 'Y'know Marco? You're a pretty great human being.' And all this time, I've been feeling terrible because my dad picked favorites and it hurt my sister, and I've been wondering why people like me so much when I'm just some nosy, bossy kid who thinks he's everyone's parent, and you just made me think that _I'm_ not the reason dad picked me, and I'm not responsible for him leaving. And you just turned my opinion of myself flat on its backside, and now I'm not butting my head into places it doesn't belong, I'm caring for those I love, and that's how I've felt this whole time, but I've also been worrying so badly that I'm just annoying to everyone, and they're all too polite to say anything. Armin, you've just made my whole week. We are going into this Wal Mart, and I'm buying you a whole entire box of doughnuts after we get all of our groceries. Then I'm going to drop off the dry-cleaning in the back. Then I'm going to take you to meet my family, and they're going to love you and there is a chance that along the way, I may fall for you and your powerful way with words. Come on."

With that, he left the car and promptly grabbed a shopping cart. I was close after him.

* * *

><p>Marco lived on the same street as Jean. I recalled this fact as we passed by Eren and Mikasa jogging side by side down the sidewalk. Eren slowed, confused, but Mikasa simply waved and kept going. She tugged at his hand to hurry him along. He obliged.<p>

"They're so cute together," Marco said. "I don't know how I didn't see it before, but they really are. I'm shipping it so hard."

That elicited a pleased and proud beam from me. "No one ships it more than me," I said.

"I believe that wholeheartedly."

We pulled up to a powder blue two-story, just a few houses down from the Kirschtein's. There were several trees in the front yard, and a sturdy-looking bike sat chained to one of them. The lawn was well-kept, if just a bit overgrown, and wildflowers popped in and out between trunks.

We parked in the driveway. Marco walked in without knocking, calling, "We have company!"

"Is it Armin?"

It felt odd, but pleasing, to hear a stranger know my name.

"I told them about you," Marco explained to me. Then, back to the woman (girl, female voice, whatever I should refer to her as), "Yeah, Ri, it is."

"Does he like fried eggs?"

Marco looked at me. I shrugged. "Sounds good."

"Yes," he said for me.

We turned the corner. In the kitchen, hovering over the stove, was a full, relaxed-looking girl with glasses. Like Marco, she was covered head to toe in freckles. She wore her long, curly black hair in a ponytail down one shoulder, and she and Marco shared the same dark, round eyes. When she smiled, a lone dimple revealed itself in her cheek.

"Marie," she said, holding out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Armin," I returned, though I figured she already knew that.

"Cool name. You're taller than I imagined, to be honest."

"Erm, thanks." I took it as a compliment.

"So you like fried eggs? Because, I don't know, I was planning to cook some breakfast for myself, and then Marco was like, 'I have a friend coming over', and I just thought, 'it'd be cool if I could make him breakfast'. So, yeah. Here you go."

I accepted the foam plate, loaded with dry toast, bacon, and- as promised- fried eggs. Luckily, I hadn't eaten any of the doughnuts Marco bought, so I was perfectly hungry.

"Thank you," I said.

"You want coffee?" she asked.

"Already had some," Marco told her. "Also, groceries are in the van, just an FYI." He guided me to the dining table, set between the kitchen and living room. We both took a seat. Marco began to eat the doughnuts.

"Morning," said another voice. I turned to see what almost looked like a slightly younger version of Marco, a boy around fifteen or sixteen. But he was lankier, his hair shorter, his face square shaped rather than rectangular. Also, there wasn't a freckle to be found on him.

"Morning, Mason," Marco returned. Mason blinked, surprised, and then quickly made his way to his older brother, hugging him on sight.

"I was here last night, you know," Marco said, hugging him back. "The one night you go to be early, you miss me."

"Wait, so you're giving out hugs, now? I want one," Marie demanded. She left the stove to wrap her arms around him.

Marco laughed when he caught my eye. "Let Armin in the group hug," he insisted.

"You're Armin?" asked Mason. Marie grabbed me and squished me against them.

"Yes," I answered. "Nice to meet you, Mason."

"You, too," he said. "You're a lot prettier than I expected."

"Did you tell them I was ugly and tiny?" I asked Marco. Everyone collectively giggled.

"Absolutely," Marco said. "I couldn't let them know how charming you really are, or Marie would have snuck by Jean's house just to look at you."

"Oh, shut up," Marie retorted. We dissolved the group hug.

A door closed behind us. A woman, sturdy-framed and huddled over, entered the dining room.

"What's all the ruckus about?" she asked. Though her hair was messy and her face was drawn and worn and silver hairs were tucked behind her ear, I thought that she was beautiful. A cup of coffee was in her hands, a blanket draped over her shoulders. I felt guilty that she'd woken up, whether or not I actually had anything to do with the fact.

"Mom," said Marco. Her features brightened at the sight of him. She placed the mug on the table, and opened her arms to him.

Marco picked her up, almost spinning, but he stopped himself and placed her back down.

"Please, don't kill me just yet," she chuckled.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"It's alright," she assured him, turning to me. She offered me her hand.

"You're Armin, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. She had a slight accent.

"I'm Marco's mother, Lucia Espinosa. Call me whatever is comfortable for you. And sorry I'm meeting you like this; I didn't expect such early company."

With this, she shot a glance at Marco, who shrugged. "Sorry, Mom."

"Does everyone want fried eggs?" Marie asked.

"Why don't you ever ask if we're okay with toast and bacon?" Mason asked back.

"If you don't like toast, more for me," she explained. "And no one in their right mind doesn't like bacon."

"Where's Jean?" Ms. Espinosa asked Marco. "Still sleeping?"

"Yes," said Marco, though I didn't remember him ever checking to see if that fact was true.

"And the others that brought you two here? Eren and...Mikasa?"

"Going for a run right now," Marco told her. "They'll come over later."

"How is Cheryl? I've been cooped up in here so long, I haven't spoken to her since your graduation."

"Same as always."

"And your trip? Did you get any good photos?"

"I think so," he said excitedly. "We can upload them today. I think you'll like them."

"I'm sure I will," she agreed. Warmth filled her smile.

In a way, she reminded me of Mrs. Jaeger. It was mostly her appearance, but they shared a similar kind of love for their sons: beautifully soft, but somehow structured, too, like there was a solid foundation of toughness beneath all of that sweet honey. Mrs. Jaeger's toughness showed through more than Ms. Espinosa's, but having kids like Derek and Eren were probably the cause of that.

Not that Derek was such a problem child (and not that Eren wasn't), but I knew that he could be emotionally unstable in a way worse than Eren. At least Eren's anger was manageable and easy to identify; Derek's anger seemed to come out of nowhere, and it was much scarier than his little brother's.

Thinking about all of this made me feel kind of...lonely, in a way. I never thought about my own family this much. But it was ridiculous to insinuate that my home life was unhappy, because my parents were near-perfect, and my grandpa was the best man ever to live, and my cousin was all I ever needed when it came to siblings. And even if I was unhappy (which I wasn't), I was an honorary member of both the Ackerman and Jaeger households. There was no legitimate reason for me to be upset.

The more time I spent with Marco's family, the more I liked them. At around lunchtime, Marco and I invited everyone- Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Conny, Jean, and Mrs. Kirschtein- over.

Eren must have sensed the likeness in Ms. Espinosa to his own mother, because he treated her with a special respect and service. Mason, it seemed, had an instant crush on Sasha, who talked and joked with him and Conny the entire time. Occasionally, Jean would butt in. Mason treated him as though he were as much flesh-and-blood as Marco was, hugging him on sight, asking him how the trip was and about his black eye, etc.

As a matter of fact, all of Marco's family treated him this way. Marie teased Jean, ruffling his hair when he took her too seriously. Ms. Espinosa, after hugging him tightly, scolded him once she found out he'd fought with Eren, and then got to work on further patching up his cuts and replacing his worn band-aids. Mason and Marie called Mrs. Kirschtein "Miss Cheryl", and Jean called Ms. Espinosa "Mom" (strangely enough, Mrs. Kirschtein never reacted to this). It was an interesting sight, and pleasing to see.

So we spent the day there. I mostly hung out with Marco, marveling with him and his mom over his photos, all of which had actually turned out very nicely. He and Jean eventually got around to showing Eren, Mikasa, and me the "tree thing" (a platform in Marco's backyard with a removable hood, a food stash, and sufficient coverage for hiding from the world), and I was introduced to Marco's dog, a black Labrador named Greg who was as friendly as his owners.

At around 1:30, once we'd eaten lunch, Sasha came up to me.

"I think it's time to go," she said. She sounded sad about it.

"I agree. We leave in...what do you say, an hour?"

"I'd say more like thirty minutes. We just have to get our luggage, say our good-byes. Then we're off. Cousin Travis is expecting us by tomorrow morning. I probably should've mentioned that earlier, and I'm sorry, but it's a fact."

"Alright," I said, forgiving easily. "Let's get going."

I told Mikasa and Eren; Sasha told Conny, Jean, and Marco.

We said our good-byes to the Espinosa-Bodt family and Jean's mother. Both moms prayed over us, and then hugged us tightly, thanking us before we left. Mason and I shook hands, and Marie tousled my hair.

"Be safe," they told us, and the door closed.

Jean and Marco lead us down to Jean's house. We loaded our luggage, saying our good-byes while we did it.

And, for the last time, I found myself accidentally eavesdropping on Jean.

"So you're leaving?"

"Obviously, dummy." Sasha's voice. She chuckled.

"You know-" Jean cursed. "I'm gonna freakin' miss you, you know that? You're practically a stranger, and I-"

There was a small, smacking sound.

I think my lower jaw dislocated.

"You-"

"You're the cutest," Sasha said. A smile was in her words. "And I think I like you. And I think you feel the same way."

There was silence. I knew I was supposed to be moving my bags, but to be honest, I couldn't stop myself.

"You..." Jean mumbled something that sounded along the lines of "...would be right."

All I could think was _that was fast. _

"Armin!" I jumped. The conversation stopped. Darn it.

Eren clapped me on the back. "Get a move on, man. This is the one deadline we have to meet, and I'm not screwing it up."

"R-right," I said. Jean came around from the back of the house, his ears bright pink.

"Armin, were you lis-"

"Oh no, we're late!" I exclaimed, walking as quickly as possible back inside.

"Armin! You little shi-"

"You're a cute couple!" I called, starting to jog. I slammed the front door behind me and locked it, breathing heavily.

Hmm. Jean and Sasha.

That really was fast.

* * *

><p>I finished loading up a few minutes before we left. Sasha and Conny were still loading, and Eren and Mikasa were double-checking what we had in the van.<p>

So it was just Jean, Marco, and me on the couch in the living room, arms folded. I'd already paid for my crimes against Jean's privacy, as my mussed hair and sore scalp showed.

"You know," Jean said to me, "you're a real pansy, Armin. I pulled my punch back in New Mexico, and your nose still bled."

"Oh, whatever," Marco said incredulously. "Why would you pull your punch? You were going for Eren."

"Well, for a split second, I _knew _Armin was in the way. I tried to stop myself. The punch was pulled."

Marco started to say something, but I stopped him.

"No, he's right," I admitted. "I'm a wimp."

"But you're also not a wimp," Marco argued, "because the only reason you got hurt was because you were trying to protect both of them."

"He's still a weakling," Jean argued. "All that says is that he's selfless."

_Weakling, _I thought to myself. I could definitely see it.

_Selfless. _

"Selflessness requires another kind of strength, though, doesn't it?" Marco countered.

_Selflessness is strength._

Surprisingly enough, I could see it.

"We're ready to go, Ar." Eren peered out from the front door.

"Okay," I answered. The three of us rose, headed outside. The day was warm, not as hot as the day before, and it was beautiful outside. A light sort of happiness buzzed in my arms and feet as I loaded into the van.

I was...strong.

"Good luck with...stuff," Jean said.

"We'll see you guys again someday," promised Marco.

"You!" called Sasha, pointing at Jean.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"Call me, dork! I'm coming back when I get the money!"

"Oh yeah? Well maybe I'll get to you first!"

We were silent, the situation suddenly dawning on everyone else.

"Jean!" Eren shouted. I couldn't tell whether he was going to say something rude or thoughtful; his sunglasses completely obscured his eyes from sight.

"What now, Jaeger?" Jean answered, exasperated.

Eren put his fingers up in the 'OK' sign. I sighed in relief.

"Nice," he said.

"Whatever."

"But also f*ck you."*****

Jean dutifully flipped both of his middle fingers at Eren, who laughed loudly and did the same. We began to pull away from the curb.

"Thanks for everything!" Marco shouted after us.

It could have been my imagination, but I thought he was looking directly at me when he said it.

* * *

><p><em>Day 5<em>

_Has it really only been five days? I feel like it's been longer._

_So Marco woke me early this morning. We had an early morning adventure. I don't know if he purposely did this to maybe mirror our first real conversation, or if he simply enjoys early morning adventures, but we had a great time. I told him about my first kiss, we talked about the true meaning of genius, and he bought a whole box of chocolate doughnuts for me because I helped him emotionally. Then he ate half of the box._

_I met his family, and I guess I'll just continually be meeting incredible people on this trip, because Marco's family is really something. And I suppose that includes Jean and Mrs. Kirschtein._

_But more importantly, I've made another discovery in my "journey of psychological healing"._

_Who am I? That's my question. I have the first few fragments of an answer, and this fact excites me._

_Firstly: I am a genius, an intellectual genius. That is my gift, what makes me special._

_Secondly: I am weak._

_This I've known for the longest time, of course, and it's weighed me down as long as I've known it._

_But thirdly: I am selfless, and therefore I am strong._

_Maybe I didn't want to believe it when Eren first told me so. I think I was caught up in all of my other weaknesses; I couldn't give myself credit for that one thing, simply because I was occupied with accusing myself as a whole for the various other things I fail in._

_I may be helpless, and I may be a burden, but I am strong in at least one way. _

_For now, that's enough._

_I'm going to miss Jean and Marco, but that didn't have to be the last time we see them. We could even visit once we drop off Sasha and Conny. _

_You know something? We could definitely do that. I want to do that. I feel like we've just made one of those rare friendships, a bond few can claim to have found, and that we need to strengthen it. We're going back to Trost once we get to New Orleans. That's what I want to do._

_Mikasa's driving now, which probably isn't the best idea considering we'll need her to be driving tonight. I drive much too cautiously to get us to New Orleans on time, but the only other option is to let Eren drive us. At night time._

_We may actually have to do that._

_I'm suddenly very glad that Mrs. Kirchstein and Ms. Espinosa prayed over us._

_But for now, future plans and worries aside, I just want to think. _

_We're driving across a state that can be its own country, and it's going to be a while._

_I'm going to think, and then I'm going to sleep. _

_More later._

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><p><strong>*For the sake of my conscience, but also the characters' personalities, let's censor some words. If it bothers you, just think that (at least in this universe), Armin refuses to swear, and censors words in his narrative. (I once read a book where an intelligent young girl was the narratormain character, and she censored EVERYTHING. Like, there was no f*ck. It was FOXGLOVE, and for a moment, I was very confused.)**

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><p><strong>AN: After several weeks of stressing, finals, and guilt about not posting sooner, I finally update, just in time for Christmas, with two chapters.**

**I was originally going to make this one big chapter, but I realized that when Armin goes to sleep, there was a perfect breakoff point where the reader could just digest what they'd just read before hopping along to the next main idea.**

**Things may seem a little iffy in this chapter, and that's a result of uninspired, rushed writing over a long period of time. I had a lot of ideas for Jean and Marco's last chapter, but not enough room or time to put them all in (as I felt that people were getting restless, for some reason, and that thought whipped me forward). The Early Morning Adventure, for example, was supposed to have a lot more coverage in it, more closure, but somehow it just ended up the way it did, and it flowed so smoothly into the next scene and from the last one that I just said, "Oh, I did a semi-decent job there", and I REALLY didn't want to waste the time or energy writing something better, especially since I had the entire rest of the chapter written after it, and redoing the first scene most likely meant redoing the entire chapter.**

**Also, I'm afraid I'm super repetitive with certain phrases and words and actions (like why the heck is everyone always laughing or giggling or chuckling), but a thesaurus has not helped me in this case, because I just get irrelevant semi-synonyms that don't properly convey what I want the characters to do.**

**I also wanted more development on Jean and Sasha's relationship. Tbh, I only added it to see how I wrote this ship, but I also think that in Jean's little window of character development (more like analyzation), Sasha's an important subject to show a softer side of Jean. Of course, Marco would be a perfect candidate for this role, but Jean feels no need to be soft to Marco, as he's basically his brother. When you've got a sibling, especially one your age or older, you spend too much time around them to even consider turning soft for them. You'd wear yourself out.**

**Well, yeah, anyway. We only caught glimpses of Jean and Sasha (after their little argument), but it's implied that Jean began to keep her and Conny company. Due to the fact that this is from Armin's perspective, I felt that not only would he not get as much from eavesdropping as we would hope, but he would and should be caught and punished for the invasion of Jean's privacy. Just being realistic.**

**Um. With Mrs. Kirschtein and names, I honestly have no idea what I was thinking. Don't ask why that part exists. It just does. This month's been weird for me, writing-wise.**

**And ah yes, I can't wait to begin with the Eremika issues. Issues in a couple are much more interesting to write than their happy-go-lucky phase. And, in case you're wondering, Eren is a kind of not-ish virgin (like, he's semi-deeply fooled around but never actually ****_done it_****), and he and Mikasa haven't had sex. It was awkward writing Armin's concerns in that area, it really was, but I think it's an important area for him to be concerned about concerning his best friends' relationship.**

**I deeply apologize for the vast exclusion of organization in Armin's thought process. I tend to write characters based on their MBTI, and Armin's easy to write because we're only a letter away from one another (He's an INTP to boot; I'm a hardcore INFP), but I think I overdo the P factor in this case (like a typical INFP would, I guess). Like, organization is NOT my thing. At all.**

**So that's it. Expect nothing from me, and I will probably attack you with hugs because good lord so many people like this across the board and I'm crying because I work hard on this story.**

**Please review, and thank you for all of your support!**


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